It's Easier to Believe
by Rachiraptor
Summary: As the targets of a new conspiracy, Mulder and Scully must admit their feelings for one another before time runs out.
1. It's Easier to Believe: part 1/2

It's Easier to Believe  
  
by Rachiraptor (Rachel Stone)  
  
Category: Story, Mulder/Scully Romance, Humor  
  
Rating: "R" (for language and adult situations-mostly "PG-13")  
  
Disclaimer: The X-files are the property of Chris-Not Ever Likely to Read This Anyway-Carter, 10-13 Productions, Fox, and the cast and crew who bring the show to life. No infringement is intended and NO money is being made from this venture. (I mean, think about it. Would any sane person actually shell out cash for this fluff? I think not.) So relax, go count your huge stacks of money, and try to remember that *we* buy all of your merchandise and watch your show. The wonderful lyrics of Sarah McLachlan were also used without permission but only lovingly so. In conclusion, let me reiterate: I have no money. Please don't sue me!  
  
Also, if you have a fear about catching romantic X-cooties, do not read this. I'm a hard-core relationshipper, and I won't even try to pretend that this story is anything other than drippy, sappy, romantic tripe.  
  
Archive: Please archive at fanfiction.net. This version should appear as a Word document. (A text-only version has been archived at Gossamer, and may eventually be picked up by Gossamer's Romance Annex as well.) Anywhere else is fine, just let me know where, and please do not alter the content or credits. Thank you! : )  
  
Acknowledgments: Listed on the last page  
  
Spoilers: An extreme amount of exposition is included for the purpose of character development and to make the story more universal. Anything before the Movie and the first few episodes of season 6 is fair game. I'm new to the show, so please just roll with any inconsistencies. : )  
  
Summary: As the targets of a new conspiracy, Mulder and Scully must admit their feelings for one another before time runs out.  
  
Feedback: Feedback is cherished. Don't make me beg. I vow to answer all E-mail. Just be gentle with me, it's my first time. All comments to: Rachiraptor@yahoo.com  
  
  
  
Author's Note: I finished this well over two years ago, and I'm just now getting around to posting it. If you are feeling as though all of we shippers got cheated last season, then I invite you to return to a simpler time in Mulder and Scully history when even a stressed-out bee understood the romantic nature of the series. This ditty is the result of way too many hours of wasted time. I really hope that you enjoy it. I recommend pouring a glass of wine and getting a plate of crackers before you begin. It might help all of this cheese go down easier. : )  
  
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It's Easier to Believe  
  
by Rachiraptor  
  
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A soft scraping sound came from the door, one second later it was followed by a click. The door slowly creaked open into the darkened, minimalist interior of Special Agent Fox Mulder's apartment. One figure stepped inside and silently shut the door behind himself. The intruder eased his way around the room. Pale light from a nearby lamppost spilled in through the window, providing a shadowy view. The darkly clad interloper stopped at Mulder's desk and began to work. Desktop items were shuffled about and some were replaced with duplicates, wires were cut, spliced, and attached with expert precision. The phone was lifted from its cradle, disconnected and replaced.  
  
The man stood, glanced about the dwelling and started towards the other rooms. He stopped short of his goal, when his shin made a resounding crack against the coffee table. Hopping backwards, he contacted the television stand and succeeded in jarring loose a videotape from its precarious perch atop the VCR, sending it careening to the floor. He picked up the tape and held to the light. A sarcastic snort of a laugh escaped from his lips, and he started to put the cassette into his bag then thought better it. He installed a listening device under the toaster in the sparse and dusty kitchen thinking to himself that less dust than this was responsible for the extinction of the dinosaurs. He then made his way to the bedroom.  
  
"What a slob." He said to himself. Boxes of books, files, and other various reading materials were stacked from floor to ceiling. The room was a jumble of information, clothing, pornography, a broken bicycle frame, and other miscellaneous items stacked haphazardly around and on what could possibly have been a bed at one time. It would probably take crew of archeologists a month just to excavate and identify the original furnishings, he mused to himself. He thought momentarily about the best strategic location to deposit another listening device in the bedroom. Finally, he shrugged, then simply tossed the button-shaped bug into the center of room and decided, Good enough.  
  
*****  
  
"Nice." One man commented to another as he switched on a table lamp. They crept into the living room of Dana Scully's apartment. The other man picked up an ornately patterned throw pillow off of the couch. "You think that she did this herself or hired a decorator?"  
  
"Put that down and get back to work." Said the first, punctuating his remark with an impatient glare. "I'll start in here. You take the bedroom."  
  
A woman's bedroom is a remarkable place, thought the intruder. Although no man could truly ever know--or more importantly, understand a woman--he would be well advised to study the contents and the atmosphere of her bedroom. The darkly clad man reached to finger the back of a silver brush lying on a platter below. He turned on a delicate Tiffany lamp so that he could continue his search. Soft, amber light gently spread across the room, giving it a warmth and sense of peace, not the kind of atmosphere he had expected to find in the home of such a formidable law enforcer.  
  
Beside the silver tray on top of a mahogany vanity, sat an expensive-looking atomizer of perfume. Most women who wore perfume had more than one kind. One would expect to find aggregates of tiny bottles huddled together on the top of a dresser or something. Dana Scully had only one. He brought the bottle nearer for inspection. He brushed his thumb against the cobalt blue glass, wearing a track through the dust that had collected on the neglected atomizer. He placed a tiny listening device on the underside of the perfume. As he went to place the bottle on the table, he inadvertently brushed to the bulb, sending a small puff of fragrance across the room. The feminine scent, like magnolia blossoms on a summer breeze, penetrated his senses causing an immediate rush of images, most of which were of an adult nature. He wondered why a beautiful woman like Dana Scully kept a bottle of perfume but never used it. He continued his inspection of the rest of the room.  
  
An antique icebox had been converted into a wardrobe of sorts. On top were framed pictures of her family. Smiling friends and relatives who'd been grouped together were now cherished an adored by the glittering frames, the glass, and by the graceful hands which had set them on top of the dresser. He thought it odd that Agent Scully herself didn't appear a single photo except for an old family portrait taken well over a decade ago. The man peeked inside the chest expecting to find the usual assortment of women's clothes and the things that went underneath. For the most part, he found what he had expected to find with the exception of one locked drawer.  
  
He still had worked to do, information to gather from a specific target, but he was a curious man by nature. He eyed his watch and peered around the corner into the living room where his partner was engrossed in the task of re-wiring the phone. Seizing the opportunity to do a little extra snooping, he began to pick the lock. After a few tries, the lock snapped open and the drawer was freed. What is so important that she has to lock and hide it away in her own home? he wondered. A gun? A secret document? Alien tidbits? The drawer opened. Inside was a beautiful, emerald colored nightgown made of satin folded neatly in the small drawer. Why had she locked up a nightgown? questioned the intruder. Weird. He was just about to close the drawer when his eye caught the glint of metal from below the gown. Expecting a weapon of some sort, he cautiously moved his hand into the drawer and slowly retrieved the item; a picture frame. A picture frame? "What the..." He turned it over and saw something unexpected.  
  
The frame held a small Polaroid picture of Dana Scully seated at a picnic table in a sunny park. In front of her sat extremely lopsided cake with six mismatched candles on top. Agent Fox Mulder stood just behind her, with his head bent towards hers, and his right arm reaching towards the camera. His crooked grin looked as though he had been caught by the camera before he finished, "Say Cheese". Agent Scully was looking up at him with her mouth twisted to one side in an I'm-amused,-but-you're-still- dead look. Seems like it was a good day to remember, but why hide it? the intruder mulled as he started to place the frame back into its cubbyhole.  
  
Again curiosity got the better of the man in black, and he reached in under the gown to feel for any other items that had been secreted away. He wasn't disappointed. He pulled out a folded envelope, a copy of "Moby Dick," and a single sunflower seed. The intruder flicked the seed back into the drawer and brought the envelope over to the lamp. The exterior read, "To Fox Mulder in the event of the death or disappearance of Dana Scully". "Whoa." exhaled the prowler. His fingers itched to open the envelope. He was just about to rip into the paper when his partner slapped him on the shoulder causing him to jump back.  
  
Taking the lead, the second man ordered, "Put it back. We were supposed to be out of here by now. Did you photograph the document yet?"  
  
The other man shook his head no, receiving a glare from his superior. Making up for lost time, the first man moved quickly to Agent Scully's nightstand and began to rummage through the drawers. He seized upon the object of his quest and began to snap pictures of the individual pages.  
  
The leader grabbed the knapp sack from the floor and headed for the bathroom stopping only briefly to install a listening device inside the metal grate of an air vent overhead. He then clanked about in the bathroom for a few moments. He mumbled to himself as he worked. "Bubble bath? Who would have guessed?" As he surveyed the gleaming white countertops before him, he called out to his fellow operative, "Nobody is this neat. She's like a Stepford agent." Having completed his task, he hustled his partner to the front door. He was just about to open the door when he heard the jangle of keys from the other side. Pressing their backs to the wall, they looked for another escape route. Slowly the door handle turned. The leader patted his breast pocket, then motioned for the other man to flank the other side of the entryway. The men held their breaths and waited for the inevitable. The door parted inches.  
  
A high pitch ringing halted Dana Scully's progress with the door. The men listened carefully as she answered her cell phone. "Mulder?... Yeah?... But I... You could just come up... I'll order some pizza... Oh... I see. I'll be down in a minute." The two men heard what sounded like a phone being slapped angrily against the agent's palm punctuated by an exasperated sigh before she stormed down the steps that led to her apartment.  
  
Relieved that no drastic action had been necessary for their escape, the two men exited the apartment and walked briskly down the adjacent maintenance hallway, vanishing quietly as if they had never been there.  
  
Two minutes and nine seconds later, Dana Scully rushed into her apartment.  
  
Almost anyone who knew Dana Scully knew how even tempered she was even under the most trying of situations. This however, wasn't one of those situations. Flushed to her roots and muttering under her breath, she stalked over to her sofa and began to vent. "What in the hell is wrong with him?!" She exclaimed to no one in particular. "Can you come down and get it?" she mimicked Mulder's tone sarcastically. "I've made other plans, sorry." "Sorry! What a time to start being apologetic!"  
  
He had been being polite, damn polite for the past few months, and the difference was really starting to grate on her nerves. Why has he been acting this way? she puzzled as she unloaded the produce from a wet grocery sack.  
  
Mulder had always been predictable in an unpredictable way. He could be counted upon to call her at all hours of the night with a theory or a cryptic request to meet him somewhere. He could always be depended upon to buck the system and to lay threats and ultimatums at the feet of men who possessed so much power that they could easily have killed him with a single nod. He was brilliant. He had an intensive curiosity and child- like sense of wonder regardless of how many times he had been burnt. He was narcissistic enough to believe that his causes outweighed any risk to himself or to others. He vehemently protected his ideals and anyone or any case for which he felt responsible.  
  
That's it, thought Scully. That's what's been different. He's feeling a renewed sense of responsibility for me. Scully chewed on this new bit of insight as she walked over to the sofa and continued to expand on her hypothesis. But why?  
  
Scully's mind bounced from one moment to the next as she recalled her past with Fox (Spooky) Mulder. She knew that he had felt responsible for the fate of his little sister. He had carried the guilt that he was somehow to blame for her abduction like a heavy timber strapped across his shoulders since he was twelve years old. No amount of reasoning, penance, or words of absolution had ever lightened the burden that he had taken up so long ago. In his mind, it would always remain his fault. It was what had initially prompted him to be an investigator, and it was what fueled his unwavering quest for the truth today. Now it seemed to Dana as though that passion had ebbed away.  
  
Scully had been his partner for more than five years and during that time they had been through some incredible situations. Scully's mind touched briefly on some of their better arguments for a moment, and she couldn't keep a hint of a smile from forming on her lips. Boy, she acknowledged, We've had some great fights. Proving him wrong is better than se... Well anyway, she amended, we've had some great fights.  
  
Her thoughts then turned to some of the darker times that they'd shared. She and Mulder had only been partners for a year when she had been abducted. Scully's mother had told her about that time. Margaret Scully described how Fox, as she called him, had been relentless in his search. She had said that he had been frantic with worry, anger, and sorrow. Even still, he had been there with her mother as Margaret Scully had gone to collect the head stone for her baby girl who had been presumed dead after months of fruitless searching.  
  
Then, after all of those months, Dana had turned up mysteriously at a local hospital. She had been clinging to a thin reed of life; comatose and critical. Scully's mom had told her of Mulder's reaction when she'd been found. She had told Dana of his crushing guilt and grief over what he had been powerless to change.  
  
Defying the odds, she had recovered. Scully recalled lying in a hospital bed surrounded by vases brimming over with flowers. Her mother had sat near a window and her sister near her bedside. The door had opened and Mulder had shuffled self-consciously into the room. He had ambled past the threshold nervously looking to the left then to the right acknowledging the presence of her mom and sister. Only then had he allowed himself to turn to her. For the first time in months, he had gazed fully upon her face and looked into her eyes. Pure joy had radiated from his face for an instant. The jolt of emotion that had rocketed through her had been overpowering. It had been as though so many feelings flooded her senses at once, that no words could have described the power of the experience. She only knew that at that moment, she had never been happier to see anyone in her life. And when he had placed her delicate cross gently into her palm, she had felt a sense of belonging that she still didn't quite understand but accepted all the same.  
  
The memory of that moment brought forth an ache in her chest and caused her throat to tighten. Her blue eyes shown with unshed tears as her mind drifted to an even darker time.  
  
Cancer. The black, lingering legacy of her abduction, still terrified her. She blinked and the tears spilled over their embankments before being brushed back quickly with the crook of her index finger. She was in full remission, but logically, she knew that she shouldn't be. In all likelihood, she would have died had Mulder not dealt with their cigarette-smoking nemesis for the technology capable of abating the illness. The whole episode hadn't made much sense. Since then, she had tried to concentrate on the life that she had been re-given rather than to dwell on the disease that had almost beaten her. Mostly, she just didn't think about it.  
  
Mulder thinks about it. She told herself sadly. Mulder thinks about it every day. Before her remission, she had been hospitalized with the bleakest of prognoses. Mulder had crept into her room late at night, and she had awoken to the mournful sound of his sobs as he knelt beside her hospital bed in the darkness. His tears fell against her hand as he grieved for her and for every other moment of helplessness in his life. It had taken every grain of restraint she'd possessed to feign sleep rather than to open her eyes and cradle him in her arms. It tore at her then. It haunted him still.  
  
And then, several months ago, Mulder had saved her life yet again. After the explosive destruction of the Dallas Federal Building, the Bureau had offered the two of them as public-relation's sacrificial lambs. Along their journey to clear themselves and to shed light on the international consortium involved, she and her partner had found evidence of cross-genic pollination intended to usher in the next plague. As usual, once they had gotten too close to uncovering the ugly truth, the FBI had re-assigned them to different sections in a plan to disband their successful partnership.  
  
Frustrated beyond reason, Scully had arrived at Mulder's apartment with the unwelcome news and her intentions to leave the FBI. Mulder, refusing to let her go, had divulged that he needed her, not only to continue their work on the X-files, but also because she completed him. He had then confessed that he would be lost without her by his side. His admission and his unconditional support had left her vulnerable. Then, unexpectedly, their embrace of platonic comfort had evolved into something of a different nature; a romantic nature. The look in his eyes as he had leaned in to kiss her had forever been etched in her mind. Unfortunately, as quickly as the moment had arrived, it had fled when an Africanized honeybee had stung her neck, causing her to jerk suddenly away from Mulder's lips.  
  
Perhaps the moment could have been recaptured had it not been for the virulent agent transmitted by that sting. She recalled lying on the floor in Mulder's hallway, lapsing into shock, her mind screaming over and over again for help though she could utter no sound. "Save me, Mulder," she had tried to shout and failed with her last conscious effort.  
  
Then, like a knight in shining armor on a fiery steed, he had come to her rescue in with a magical potion to awaken her from unnatural repose. Well, she mused, it was more like a rogue FBI agent in a Parka, on a stolen snow tractor, and an alien anti-viral-drug--but who's counting? He had saved her and that was all that was important. He had retrieved her from frozen stasis in Antarctica, revived her a second time when she had ceased to breath in the midst of horrifying chaos, and then carried her over what seemed to have been an impossible distance to safety. By her account, it had been at least the third time that he had brought her back from the brink of death.  
  
In the time that had elapsed since then, their relationship had become more strained. Now at least, she felt as though she had some insight into the cause of his rededication to isolation. Mulder had apparently added her to the weight already borne upon his back. It tugged at him, pulling him under. It was wearing him down. It robbed him of his enthusiasm and passion.  
  
If that's why he's been shutting me out and acting so abrasively polite, not even calling to share his latest far fetched theories, then he deserves to have his butt kicked by my size six boot. You're not responsible for me! I thought that we had settled this a long while ago. Scully pitched her head back and raised her voice to the ceiling. "Mulder, you are such a, such a," unable to find the right words, she let out a frustrated groan and punched a couch cushion into submission.  
  
It had been months since she had been on overnight adventure with him. Not that she would ever admit it to him, but she could use a good werewolf watch, or town meeting called to discuss the dramatic increase of flying squirrel deaths near an old high school that had been built over an Indian burial ground, or something like that. She smiled wryly. She kind of missed Mulder's incessant ramblings about myths, legends, and the great beyond. She missed the arguments. She missed the friendly baiting between them. She missed rolling her eyes at him. Actually, she just missed Mulder.  
  
No way is he sneaking in and out of the office at dawn and leaving me busy work written on a stupid post-it note, She decided. We have got to talk about this before he starts cutting my meat, and patting me on the head like I'm a senile old aunt or something. "Starting tomorrow, things are going to change."  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
Scully breezed into the basement office at 5:30 a.m. Dropping her bag, she swept around Mulder's desk. "Morning!" Scully beamed brightly from just behind Mulder's right ear causing him to jump, dropping the pencil that he had been studying when she had entered. She bent forward over his shoulder as she reached for the pencil. Her hair brushed his cheek and ear causing him to jerk to the side away from her.  
  
"Jeez Scully, don't sneak up on me like that." He said impatiently.  
  
She picked up discarded yellow No. 2 pencil, examining it closely. A perfect eyebrow arched as she tried to gauge his reaction. "Uh, I didn't." She looked from the pencil to Mulder and back again before inquiring sarcastically, "You two want to be alone?"  
  
He shot her a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about-Scully look from the corner of his eye. She perched on the edge of his desk, propping herself over her hand braced against the center of his desk as she bent lower to see his face. Man, he hated when she did that. She probably had no idea that her body language held an ever-present catch-me-if-you-can invitation. He tried to ignore her, turning his attention to the file on his desk.  
  
As Scully peered down at her partner, a flash of concern for his distracted demeanor crossed her features. Pushing herself upright she held the writing implement up to the light, then in her best newscaster voice, she asked, "graphite alien embryo or common pencil? You make the call." She finished by placing the pencil up to his mouth like a microphone. "Any comments?" Strike one. He didn't even smirk at her attempt.. Instead he looked back down at his desk and flipped open a file folder staring at the first page intently for more than 30 seconds. This was strange for two reasons; reason number one, he typically devoured information at an incredibly fast pace, assimilating it instantly then storing it in his photographic memory, and reason number two, the file was upside down.  
  
A worried crease depressed Scully's forehead as she watched her partner from above. She slowly walked around his desk, her finger trailing its metal rim as she rounded the corner. He still didn't look up. Stopping in front of him, she leaned forward, bowing her head to meet his gaze. He didn't so much as nod in her direction at the obvious intrusion of his personal space. She tapped the folder. "It works better this way." She turned the folder right side up. No reaction. "Is it ignore your partner day, or did I miss a memo?" Still no response. Strike two.  
  
"Mulder!" She said forcefully this time. "What gives?" He met her eyes and shrugged, then returned to his intricate perusal of the case file before him. Annoyed, she poked his shoulder with the pencil. "Hey! I'm talking to you."  
  
He exhaled like a petulant teenager, taking extra care to close the folder and shove it forward on his desk. Then, with brows raised and an irksome smile painfully tugging at his mouth, he dawned, "yeeesss?"  
  
Scully yanked a chair over to the side of his desk. She sat down than deliberately exhaled a calming breath. Quelling her anger, she opened her eyes, ready for a calm discussion. Mulder's arms were crossed defensively. His jaw was set. He was waiting for her to say her peace. Scully hated when he did this, and he knew it. "Um, any day now, I've got work to do." He defied.  
  
Okay, you got his attention. She opened her mouth to speak but was surprised to find that she didn't quite know where to start or what to say. "Coffee?" She offered as she bounded out of her chair and over to the coffee pot.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Would. You. Like. Some. Coffee?" She repeated slowly as if he were learning impaired. When he didn't answer immediately she turned away from him and reached for the ancient electric percolator that sat balanced on two phone books and a torn "Victoria's Secret" catalog--she really didn't want to know about the catalog. An array of stir sticks, sweetener packets, and coffee grounds were affixed to the counter; sinking into a black gelatinous pool of aging coffee spills. "Yuk!" She said in disgust. "When's the last time you cleaned this up? The trash can's there for a reason, you know?" She started to wipe the counter with a stack of napkins from various take out restaurants, sighing aggravatedly when the thin paper stuck to the counter, adding to the mess.  
  
Mulder stood silently, pausing to look skyward for a moment. He then watched her for a few seconds as she set about the task of cleaning up for him. He noticed that, even when she was pissed off, she still carried a certain grace, a certain peace, and a certain resolution. Mainly, it was her resolution that concerned him now.  
  
She was still trying her best to pry the sticky goo from its final Formica resting place, when she felt him touch her elbow. A slight surge of adrenaline at his point of contact caused her to drop a stir stick back into the caffeinated abyss. "Have you ever been to La Brea?" She was nervous. "I'm half expecting to find a woolly mammoth stuck in this tarry sludge." She was stalling.  
  
Mulder placed his hand lightly upon her shoulders in a familiar gesture of encouragement. He slowly turned her around to face him. Scully saw a look of gentleness in his eyes followed quickly by a flash of sadness. It was a gut-wrenching expression offered in the past to console and to ease Scully. Even so, sometimes that look opened a tiny window into his soul through which she could see and feel the depths of his sadness and isolation. Whenever she had been hurt physically or emotionally, he had looked at her that way. It went beyond compassion. It went beyond sympathy. It was the kind of look that let her know that no matter how badly she felt, he felt worse just knowing that she was troubled or in pain. At such times, she knew absolutely that he would trade places with her, even give his life for her given the opportunity.  
  
Usually, Fox Mulder stayed so preoccupied by his work that he seemed oblivious to the plights of others unless they pertained to himself, of course. Scully knew that there was a lot more to him than his obsessions. Unfortunately, his empathetic visage was quickly forced into exile behind some invisible barrier in his mind. Inevitably, his blank, cool mask would return. After that happened, Mulder was Mulder, and Mulder--caring, selfish, or just plain spooky, needed to hear what she had to say.  
  
"Scully," he implored impatiently, "Any idea about when you're going to get to the point?"  
  
Scully surrendered her battle with the coffee ick, squared her shoulders, and began to spill what had been building up for months. "Mulder, I appreciate that you've been doing more than your share of the work lately and that, coffee pot aside, you've been making quite an effort not to *bother* me. I think that I can almost understand why you haven't wanted me along on any of the more dangerous assignments lately."  
  
"So what's your problem then?" he interjected defensively. Mulder noted her I'm-not screwing-around-here tone and the telltale flush of red across her cheeks. Mulder fought the urge for a "you're beautiful when you're angry" crack, knowing that it would definitely not serve his purpose.  
  
"You're driving me nuts! That's the problem." she blurted.  
  
She searched his face for any hint of understanding. Mulder blinked, exhaled a breath and continued to stand perfectly still, arms folded across his chest, impenetrable eyes focused on her. She waited another couple of seconds for a reaction. Any reaction. She considered jabbing the heal of her pumps into his foot just to make sure that he was awake then thought better of it. Instead, she stepped past him and moved briskly to the desk, "Mulder, we need to make some changes around here if we intend to keep working together."  
  
Not good, Mulder thought. Not good at all. He cautiously ventured, "What do you have in mind?"  
  
Okay, now we're getting somewhere, Scully thought as she drew up the courage to continue. "We're not working together as a team anymore. I mean, I know that that was the original idea, at least that's what our supervisors had intended, but that isn't the way we had been working for," she paused, trying to decide for how long they'd been acting like partners, not just as colleagues, "for," her mind lit from one case to another as she stammered, trying to come up with a finite time span and found that there was nothing finite about their relationship, or rather, professional partnership, she amended mentally. "Anyway Mulder, one of the few predictable things in my life is that we work on weird cases, at unusual hours. We argue our diametrically opposed views. You pester me. I berate you. We back each other up. Everyone goes home happy."  
  
Mulder suppressed a smirk at her summations then leaned against a file cabinet, shifting his weight to one leg, crossing it with the opposite foot casually in what Scully thought of as his Cary Grant stance. He reached into his suit pocket where his fingers fumbled a bit until they latched upon the object of their quest, a single sunflower seed. He popped the seed into his mouth and slowly glanced up at Scully, eyebrows raised, questioning silently. "We're working together Scully. What's the big deal?" he quipped hoping that he had sounded as cavalier about her concerns as he meant to.  
  
"The big deal is that you haven't even included me on our last three investigations. You didn't even ask for my input before you filed the reports. Oh, and yeah; you even wrote up the reports yourself. You haven't called my apartment in weeks, and you're so distant when we are in the office together." A part of Scully's brain registered that fact that she sounded like a jealous girlfriend. Don't even go there Dana, she told herself. Redirecting she asked, "Are we still partners?"  
  
Mulder kept his eyes bent on the floor for a while then slowly, he met her gaze. Sometimes, like now, he would start to say something to her and just as the words would form, he would look into her eyes and loose his train of thought, sometimes even loose himself, She'd make a great snake charmer. No cobra would stand a chance against those hypnotic eyes, he thought before regrouping to continue their discussion. "What is it that you want me to say, Scully?" He shrugged his shoulders and set his jaw.  
  
"Why have you been sneaking in at the crack of dawn then taking off for days at a time without any information about where to meet you. All I get is a stupid post-it with delineated jobs a trained seal could do. Why are you avoiding me other than treating me like a secretary from 1952?" She held him with her eyes and continued. "Why are you acting like this, Mulder? Give me a reason. You're bored? You're restless? You're ready for a new partner? You're dating? You need more fiber in your diet? Your sign is in retro? What???"  
  
As Scully threw out possibilities, it occurred to her for the first time that the reason that he had become less forthcoming and intrusive could have more to do with another woman than with the work that she and Mulder did and their friendship. For the tiniest of moments, she felt a pang of what could only be described as jealousy. She swiftly rebuffed herself for the foolish thought then implored, "Give me a reason, and then maybe we can work it out."  
  
For a man who had a seemingly unending litany about theories for behavior, Mulder stood before her dumb struck, unable or unwilling to explain himself. Scully waited a small eternity. He shrugged again and began to return to his desk. Scully grabbed his forearms and pulled herself between Mulder and his chair, into his line of site. She stared into his eyes, dismayed by the defeat that she saw there. "If you don't want to work together anymore, it will be better if you just tell me." Although she tried to hide the hurt in her voice, it cut through Mulder who closed his eyes against the searing pain. Before he had a chance to recover, he found himself shaking an emphatic "NO" in response to her supposition.  
  
"Mulder," she said more softly, concern laced through each syllable, "if you are doing this to protect me or to shelter me from danger, then try to cut it out. *You* are not responsible for me." He looked away from her and shook his head from side to side. Once again, his eyes closed against some foe or knowledge that he alone could see.  
  
Scully tried once more. She reached up until her fingers were touching his cheek. His resolute sigh filled the otherwise quiet room. She turned his face to meet hers, then lowered her voice, "*You* are not responsible for me." He nodded in solemn concession. Unconvinced, Scully angled her head again to intercept his unreadable features, her brow furrowed, and asked, "Okay?"  
  
Mulder didn't trust his voice to speak without wavering at the moment. The concern in her beautiful eyes had always been his undoing. He wanted to tell her that she'd been imagining things, that everything was just business as usual. He wanted to lie to her, to tell her that he wanted to move on without her. He wanted to tell her the truth. But right now, he settled for simply nodding at her again and forcing a weak smile to the surface.  
  
Scully was now more confused than ever. She'd expected to spar with him or to be quickly dismissed. This defeated acceptance was unexpected and very disturbing. There was something bigger going on here. Bigger than guilt or indifference over you, a little voice inside her head chided. Scully mused that maybe an over developed sense of self importance might be contagious. She was about to inquire about any other problems that he might be having when the sound of someone clearing his throat startled her. She turned to find Assistant Director Walter Skinner standing in the doorway.  
  
Skinner's expression was typically one of duty, frustration, and fatigue. Scully marveled at the stark curiosity and possible bemusement on his features instead. It was only then that she realized that her hand was still on Mulder's cheek. Like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar, she jerked the offending arm away and hurriedly tucked it behind her back. With one fluid stride, she deposited herself in front of her supervisor. Then, with more forced fervor than she had intended, she expelled, "What can we do for you , Sir?"  
  
Skinner took a moment to examine her affect then peered over his glasses at a very nonchalant Agent Mulder who was trying his best not to crack a smile at the picture that he and Scully must have made. Skinner decided that he wasn't going to comment on the possible, but in his mind, not probable romantic relationship between these two agents.  
  
There were at least three betting pools that *he* knew about in this building alone that kept tabs on when, where, and how agents Mulder and Scully would go public or be caught in the act of an illicit tryst. Agency gossip mongers paid careful attention to any touch, gaze, or bit of dialog between the supposed star-crossed duo that didn't seem to be on the up and up. Tongue wagers frequently commented on the incredible chemistry between the two, stating that only a fool would believe that these single, smart, and attractive people could have been side-by-side on countless overnight trips and in the relative privacy of their basement office for more than five years and never have so much as kissed.  
  
Skinner would have been inclined to believe the rumors if he hadn't seen the professional manor in which they conducted themselves in and out of the office throughout countless harrowing experiences. There *was* something odd about their rapport. But hell, Skinner posed as he looked around the cramped basement compartment wallpapered with a mixture of paranormal accounts, medical articles, and take-out menus, there was something odd about pretty much everything they did. Yes, Skinner would love to be a fly on the wall and witness the whole story, but he seriously doubted that it would involve the wild desk orgies or any of the other "sightings" that supposedly happened. Still, Dana had looked awfully guilty there for a minute...  
  
Scully took the folder offered to her by the Assistant Director. Skinner then stepped back to include Mulder and began, "I want the two of you to prioritize this case. Frankly, I'm not even sure if it falls into our jurisdiction or if it is even credible enough to warrant our attention, but I've received some external pressure to look into it. Skinner suddenly appeared embarrassed to be there, pivoting from one foot to the other and glancing at his watch. "Surveil the primary sight tonight and keep me posted," he turned on his heel to leave then added over his shoulder, "I'll be away from the office tomorrow, but you should be able to catch me tomorrow evening." With that, he was gone.  
  
Mulder sat on the corner of his desk, grinning broadly. Scully pinned him with an icy glare to let him know that she was less than amused at the lack of office decorum that Skinner most likely believed to be the norm down here in the "basement of love" as termed by a fifth floor secretary overheard by them in a crowded elevator. "Oh come on," he tossed. "That was funny."  
  
It was, she thought while trying not to smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. She drank in the sight of his boyish smile, and her heart lifted.  
  
"Why are we meeting with Skinner tomorrow night?  
  
Scully couldn't pass up an opportunity for a little teasing of her own. Eyes widened with pretend innocence, "You tell me. I saw the way you two were looking at each other." Rolling his eyes at her, he reached for the file in her hands. She offered her best speculative expression and added, "Sorry. Don't ask. Don't tell, right?" Mulder lunged forward and snatched the folder from her grasp then whacked her on the butt with it before she could jump out of range. She let out a surprised yelp with a trace of a giggle at his playful attack.  
  
That's more like it, she thought. The atmosphere in the room had changed from oppressive to jovial. He's back. Scully took the first deep breath she had taken in weeks.  
  
Skinner had just rounded the stair well when he heard Agent Scully's shriek of laughter. He paused and looked back over his shoulder again, thinking that maybe he should pay more attention to office gossip after all.  
  
*****  
  
An enormous black rat scampered across a row of dumpsters that lined a non-descript ally in the heart of Washington DC. Recent rain diminished the stench rising from the heaps of garbage but not enough to prevent passers-by from holding their breaths automatically. One small man dressed in black hurriedly made his way down the stinking corridor. A streetlight in the distance silhouetted his form briefly as he cautiously glanced right, then left before squeezing between two trash receptacles and disappearing from sight.  
  
The man stopped in front of what appeared to be a non-functional utility panel covered in dust and tangles of wires popping in and out of various circuit breaker ports. He lifted a gloved hand toward the panel and began to flip various breakers. He then stepped back as the panel slid grudgingly to the side revealing a hidden freight elevator leading to a sub- basement. Raising the grate, he nodded at the camera that he knew was watching him prior to being cleared to enter the chamber below. The lift started with a jolt and lowered its mysterious passenger to where his associates awaited his presence.  
  
By virtue of almost always working with guarded information obtained from a myriad of sources that often demanded anonymity, his job had very few perks, but he could honestly say that he rather enjoyed the work. Few people were as good at obtaining covert information and passing it along to interested parties. He would put his team up against any other agency, official or not. His associates had hidden in plain sight for years in this town. Despite all of close calls and risked exposures, their identities had remained unknown and their location secure.  
  
He loved this elevator. It evoked the kind of fantasy images played out in a James Bond film. Secret passages, exotic locals, a bevy of beauties at his beck and call, and a dangerous fem fatal named something as improbable as Pussy Galore. Well, he had the secret location part anyway . Still, he wouldn't complain if he *had* to work with a "Bond Girl". The elevator landed with a solid thud, jarring him back to reality. He refocused on his mission.  
  
This mission was just about as high stakes as they came. One mistake and, he tamped down the notion. He discarded his raincoat, hanging it near the door, before making his way into a dimly lit room filled with a wide array of technology. Surveillance devices, computers, shop tools, and satellite equipment were crammed together along the countertops. Each had its own purpose and functioned in perfect symbiosis with the other modules.  
  
Two of his partners were engrossed in reading some of the documents procured during their initial reconnaissance.  
  
Still brushing the rain from his head and shirtfront, the eldest and decidedly the most authoritative interrupted the younger men. "Anything useful yet?"  
  
"Possibly, but nothing conclusive so far. We need to get access to Mulder's encoded records and his new entrees. Basically, all we need is for him to log on-line once then write an encoded text on or off line and we can use those codes to gain access to everything that we need via the link I installed last night." After reporting his findings, he scratched at his chin thoughtfully and added, "Has anyone given any thought to the possible scenarios if our group or our inside contact is exposed prior to meeting the mission objectives?"  
  
The leader stepped closer and stated in a forceful but level tone, "This mission *will* be a success. These two," nodding at a still photograph of Special Agents Mulder and Scully, "can't run forever. *We* will be the ones to assure their fall." His fist hit the print with and emphatic "Whump." "They've had it coming for a long time."  
  
The leader then addressed the other man who had positioned himself between the others and a row of monitors each of which possessed the capacity to display different real-time images from Mulder and Scully's apartments. "Has anything turned up on video?"  
  
"Nothing usable unless we decide to go into the adult video business." That got everyone's' attention.  
  
"What did you see?" The other men said practically in unison.  
  
Toying with his peers he continued, "Well nothing except for how good Agent Dana Scully looks in the morning..."  
  
"Wrapped in a towel"  
  
"You didn't?" warned the leader.  
  
"Slipping into a hot shower..."  
  
"Yah, go on." said the other, nearly falling off of his stool in the process.  
  
"Her body visible from behind the thin shower curtain..."  
  
The leader gave a snort of disbelief and slapped the other man on the shoulder. "There are no cameras in that room. I was there. Nice try. Now, can we get back on track?"  
  
Taking in their commander's ire, the other men snapped immediately out of their respective fantasies. Switching off several monitors, one turned back to the other, pausing only long enough to adjust an eyepiece against the bridge of his nose. "Did they take the bait?"  
  
"Skinner gave them the assignment this morning. They'll be at the warehouse tonight. Is everything in place?  
  
"Absolutely. No escape."  
  
*****  
  
"Why do I always let myself get talked into these things?" sighed an increasingly disgruntled Scully into the cold, wet air.  
  
Mulder plopped down beside her. The half rotten boards of the dock groaned and creaked at the sudden resistance. He blew a quick burst of warm air into his cupped hands before slapping them together again in an attempt to distribute some of the warmth to his numbing fingers. He spied his partner out of the corner of his eye as she tried futilely to untangle her line and hook from the overspun reel propped between her knees in a veritable nest of nylon. A flustered Scully was a rarity. He had to force himself not to smile at the picture that she made.  
  
The idea had been to blend in with some of the locals in the wharf area while surveiling the warehouse directly across from them. He'd told her to wear something dark, nondescript, and warm. So there she sat; black slacks, black turtleneck, black overcoat, and to his complete dismay, her ever-present four-inch healed boots. How does she walk in those let alone run? he pondered in amazement as he glanced at her crossed legs swinging quickly back and forth over the murky water. To finish the look, she was wearing a dark knit hat rolled down as far as it would reach. Auburn tresses peeked out from underneath here and there.  
  
As she continued to wrest with the knotted twine, Fox Mulder thought that she looked more like an underage actor from "Oliver Twist" than a seasoned FBI investigator. Deciding to keep that commentary to himself he prodded, "You're not having fun?" Scully glowered up at him then let out a frustrated puff aimed at a lock of hair that dangled annoyingly above one eye "See if I ever take *you* fishing again." Mulder joked. With nothing better to do, he kept on teasing her good-naturedly. "The fresh sea air, the lulling rhythm of the waves lapping at the pier, the tireless battle of man--uh, sorry--woman against nature..." He paused for dramatic emphasis. "What's not to love?"  
  
Rhetorical question or not, Scully was not going to leave his remarks unanswered. Shoving the rod and reel aside, she began to enumerate her peeves of the moment. "Let's see," she began. "It's cold. My lips are chapped. I hate fishing. I'm probably getting a butt full of splinters from this dilapidated dock, and, in case I forgot to mention it, I'm cold." She huffed the last of her tirade.  
  
Mulder knew that she was at least half kidding. This woman had been to hell and back more times than Persephone. She was a lot tougher-skinned than most of the big, manly-men-Marine-type agents at the bureau. Still, he had to admit, they had been staked out for over two hours and the most excitement they'd seen so far was two rats fighting over the same fish head. He too was beginning to question the merits of the sit-here-and-wait plan, and it was awfully damned cold for the first of November. He decided that distraction was his best bet with his unhappy colleague. "Well," he leaned toward her and offered his best suggestive leer, "as your partner, and purely as a professionally related courtesy, mind you," he leaned closer, "I'd be glad to help to remove any splinters that become lodged in your derriere." He pulled back and winked. He was just as proud of his ability to land a flirtatious comment as he was of his ability to accurately cast his fishing line with one lazy sweep.  
  
Normally, Scully would have rebuked him immediately for his remark, usually falling back on false shock or propriety. Today however, she was more in the mood to give him a taste of his own medicine. "Joke all you want, but I'm really not kidding about the, Ouch!." she twisted her torso to one side and grimaced. "Jeez, had to happen where I can't see." She rolled onto the other hip, her backside now pointed in Mulder's general direction. She started to hike her heavy wool coat up and over the injured area. "There are some tweezers and a flash light in my duffel," she called over her shoulder. Then in a huskier voice she asked, "Do you think that you could find it and pull it out for me?"  
  
The only sound was the creaking dock against the tide and the distant drone of a tugboat engine. Mulder kneeled beside her. His mind kept telling him to stop staring at the curve of her hip and to start looking for the tools. He found himself cotton-mouthed at the prospect of searching Scully's bottom for a tiny sliver of wood. He turned back around with the tweezers and flashlight in hand and pondered, What am I supposed to do now? A bead of sweat rolled from his brow despite the cold. It was then that he felt rather than saw Scully crack a smile. Hey, who's screwing around with whom here?! he asked himself.  
  
Just then, the relative silence was broken by a short outburst of laughter. "Made ya look," she exclaimed triumphantly. Mulder gave her a quick slap on the hip causing her to laugh a little harder at him, pleased with herself for getting him for a change.  
  
At that moment, she was actually glad to be there on that dock in a neighborhood so rough that even gang members probably steered clear after dark. Sure, they were arguing. She was extremely cold, and there was no sign of this "spectral entity" from Ireland that they were after. Still, after the last few tense months, she was happy to be exchanging sarcastic commentary with her partner, even though her inner voice warned that she was starting to get a pretty warped sense of fun.  
  
Mulder turned back around to face her holding his palm over one eye. Then, in his best pirate voice he commanded, "Argh. Any more out to you, Cabinboy, and you'll be a walkin' the plank."  
  
"Cabinboy? How did I get demoted to cabinboy?" she asked with all of the false indignation she could gather.  
  
"Sure. Just look at you, Scully." He tugged on the side of her cap then abruptly released it causing it to snap back to her temple. "You're prime cabinboy material." He sized her up visually and nodded to himself.  
  
Scully wasn't sure why it mattered to her that she was *just* cabinboy material, but it did. They were playing after all. Mulder had always acted with self-importance. It was in his nature to do so. She was becoming accustomed to his superiority complex. It still bugged the hell out of her, but she'd learned to live with it, mostly. Some control freaks are born not made she'd decided. But Cabinboy??? she weighed perplexed. He sees me as a cabinboy?  
  
Pouting a bit, not that he'd notice, she pushed the rod and reel another few inches away from her. When she pulled her hand away, a fishing hook pierced her thumb. "Ouch!" she said a little louder than she had wanted.  
  
"What is it?" Mulder pressed with concern for her in his voice.  
  
"I got a fish hook in my thumb." Biting the corner of her lip, she held her injured thumb up against the distant harbor lights for a better view.  
  
Mulder gruffed, "Nice try *Cabinboy*, but I'm not falling for it a second time, so quit yer' squallin' and go swab the deck or something," he ordered then gave her a light punch on the arm for emphasis.  
  
Scully held her tongue lest she say something that she might regret. She wasn't sure which made her the maddest, his discount of her injury or the use of what was destined to become her nickname of the week. It was suddenly like being seven years old again with her brothers.  
  
"Crybaby-crybaby!" they sang at her as she lay at the base of the tree fort with a broken collarbone. She drew in a breath of air slowly through the gap of her missing front baby tooth. Pain had lanced through her burning a pathway from neck to shoulder. She had forced herself to stop crying and had walked home by herself, the medial tip of her clavicle protruding slightly from her chest, the blood and bone hidden from the boys by her favorite red sweater. She wasn't about to be called a crybaby again.  
  
Fine. I'll get the damn hook out myself, she resolved with increasing animosity. She fished a Swiss army knife out of her bag and began the awkward task of cutting the barbed end so that she could pull the hook back through. The small scissors were in her left hand. Clumsily, she angled the shears around the thin aluminum hook. She pressed the scissors handle down to clip, but the knife jacket pitched to one side and then slid from her fingers. Her hand darted forth in an effort to recover it but fumbled the attempt. Helplessly, she watched her father's knife fall to the water and disappear forever beneath the splash. "Shit! I can't believe I did that. Damn-it!" she said with dismay.  
  
"Well, you're starting to sound more like a sailor anyway." He searched her profile in the dim, rippling light that cascaded over her fine features as she leaned over the dock's edge peering into he depths of the water. She was definitely not playing this time. "What happened?" he asked with no insincerity in his voice.  
  
Scully closed her eyes and counted to ten. It wasn't his fault that she'd lost one of her most prized possessions. "I've got a hook in my thumb, and I just sent my father's knife to a watery grave."  
  
Mulder felt like a heel. He should have believed her earlier. Just like you not to notice, he admonished himself. He knew how special that knife was to her. She might dismiss its passing lightly, but he understood that she would mourn later for the little link to her father that it had represented. "Here," he grasped her wrist lightly and pulled her closer, "let me see if I can get it."  
  
Despite all of the gore and oddities he had seen, the site of a hook completely through Scully's thumb made his stomach roil. He reflected that any other woman would be going on about it like a panicked hen, but not his Scully. She sat calmly giving him instructions on how to break off the barb without doing more tissue damage. The task proved to be far more difficult than either one of them had initially thought. The hook was too small to provide an even space between the barb and her skin. After a few attempts, Scully informed him that he needed to push on the top of the hook while squeezing the flesh of her thumb against it in order to have enough leeway to break off the end. Mulder looked up at her questionably, obviously not wanting to hurt her.  
  
Poor lighting aside, Scully noticed that Mulder was looking a little green around the gills. To distract him a little, she joked, "I heard that the only way that a cabinboy could be promoted was by proving himself with an act of bravery. Isn't that true captain?"  
  
Mulder smiled gently at her attempt to put *him* at ease and returned the favor. "Argh, that be so, young matie. Know ye any sea chanties?" Mulder questioned, raising his gaze over her knuckles. She smiled, and he congratulated himself for succeeding in distracting her.  
  
"Sea chanties?" she bellowed. "The best right of passage you can come up with is sea chanties? Some pirate you've turned out to be." She chided, grinning now in earnest as she shook her head from side to side in mock disbelief.  
  
"This here's me ship, and its sea chanties you'll be a singin'." Mulder made a big production out of clearing his throat in preparation for the much-anticipated chantie. "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer...Sing!" he commanded and she joined in, "take one down, pass it around..."  
  
"Snap!"  
  
"Mmmmuph!" Scully managed to stifle a yelp in reaction to Mulder's surprise move that dislodged the embedded hook. She examined the thumb briefly, impressed at his ability to sing badly and perform first aide simultaneously. Before releasing her hand, Mulder inspected the small wound, then did something that astonished them both. Without thought, Mulder placed a tender kiss on her thumb and pronounced it "all better." Both of them realized at the same exact millisecond that it was a gesture that transgressed their professional relationship.  
  
Changing the subject, Scully stated, "So we've been freezing on this dock, trying to blend in enough so as not to attract muggers, periodically staring at the dark and obviously abandoned warehouse for over two hours now waiting for a spectral Irish guardian to appear and lead us to a shipment of weapons destined for the IRA. Do I have this right?"  
  
"Pretty much," he deadpanned.  
  
"Why us? Why not the local police, the ATF, or the CIA?" Scully strongly suspected that Mulder also wondered why they had been singled out for this assignment. She had the basics down. She just liked the way Mulder told tales.  
  
"This case isn't just about the weapons. They are just a part of what has been going on. Look over there." He motioned towards the warehouse, "What do you see?"  
  
Here it comes, she considered with trepidation. "A dark and quiet building."  
  
"Exactly, but if you look over at the other two warehouses, you'll see homeless people in the doorways and around barrel fires."  
  
"Yes, so?" her arm made circles to cut to the chase.  
  
"Why would people choose to stay outdoors huddled next to occupied buildings when they could easily go inside of our warehouse for shelter."  
  
"Point taken, but what does this have to do with us?" She knew better than to ask, but curiosity always won out.  
  
Indicating the building again, he began, "One week ago, a couple of dock workers showed up at a local police station, ranting and raving about having seen a ghost in front of that warehouse. They claimed that if they made any motion to enter the building, a chill would fall over them and the apparition would appear."  
  
"So three workers got plastered, paranoid, and delusional. Big deal. Besides, who wouldn't feel a chill out here?" she concluded before tucking her hands up under her arms in an attempt to ward off the cold as a light drizzle started to fall.  
  
"That's just it, Scully. They weren't drunk, not even close. Also, they weren't the only ones to see it. Apparently, Interpol tracked an incoming shipment of arms to a local dealer who is pro-IRA and under suspicion of illegally shipping arms in two other cases. The CIA's investigation determined that the weapons would be leaving out of this port, bound for the IRA ten days ago on a commercial steamer named the Morning Sun." Mulder paused.  
  
Scully challenged, "Yeah, and?"  
  
"The shipment never arrived."  
  
"You mean that Interpol never found the weapons?"  
  
"No, I mean that according to this, thumping the file sticking out of the duffel, "the boat never arrived in the states to collect the weapons. The harbormaster has no record of the ship even though the captain had listed this port as his destination on the manifest.  
  
"So the CIA screwed up, not the first time. I'm still not getting why we're here when no one has recovered any weapons after a port search."  
  
"Now, this is where it starts to get weird...," he continued his dissertation.  
  
"Doesn't it always?" she mumbled under her breath.  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"Nothing. Go on."  
  
"Three sailors claiming to be from the Morning Sun told the authorities that an angel appeared to the captain and warned him not to pick up the illegal shipment. They reported that the five crewmen had pleaded with the captain not to enter into the port, but that he had persisted. They alleged that she appeared a second time, this time to the entire crew, barring entrance to the shipping lane. Then her face had turned angry, and the last thing they remembered was an explosion of light and noise. Thrown clear of the destruction, they swam several miles to the shore. According to the file, the only lead that anyone has on the weapons now is that there have been several sightings of an angelic ghost wandering in and out of that warehouse." Mulder glanced at Scully out of the corner of his eye. Damn, this is fun, he reflected. He had been missing this much more than he had realized. He missed her more than he'd realized.  
  
"So," she teased, "are we going to make S'mores now and sing camp fire songs?" She met his glare at her sarcasm. "It's a great ghost story, Mulder. But, and I will hate myself later for asking, since when are ghost sightings leads for the CIA, Interpol, or the DEA to follow? Scully braced herself for the barrage of words that he was about hurl in her direction. Here it comes, she purposed, Mulder Theory 101.  
  
"I assume that we got the case because we've either earned a reputation," Scully snorted and Mulder held up a hand to quell her cynical commentary, "or that no one else wanted to look into it. I imagine that..." His gaze drifted over Scully's shoulder to the warehouse behind her. He sat absolutely still, transfixed.  
  
"Mulder?" Before she could ask about what had captured his attention, he was on his feet and halfway down the dock. She raised her eyes to heaven, simultaneously venting her frustration and praying for God to give her just a little more patience tonight. Scooping up the duffel bag, she sprinted down the dock after him.  
  
The freezing drizzle was rapidly coating the dock and concrete with a thin glaze of black ice. Mulder stepped on a patch of it and skidded forward a few feet before stopping abruptly on a curb causing him to pitch head first onto the narrow sidewalk. The stumble cost him just enough time to allow Scully to catch up with him.  
  
She hunched forward, hands propped on her thighs as she caught her breath from the sprint. Meanwhile, Mulder had pushed himself up and had begun to rattle the doorknob for entry into the building. He smacked the door with his palms in frustration.  
  
"It's locked." he pronounced.  
  
"Ya think? Mind telling me what in the world has gotten into you?" The weather continued to worsen. Fog and drizzle blended together creating a cold and wet blanket covering everything around them . It seemed to Scully that it was somehow alive as it rolled in from the sea, swallowing the landscape as it came. It was creepy, not that she'd ever tell Mulder or anyone else for that matter. She hated fog. It wasn't a rational fear for an extremely rational woman, but there it was all the same. The gathering mist made her feel lost. Aliens, serial killers, and sea monsters under my belt and I'm still freaked out by a little fog? Get over it, she ordered herself.  
  
Mulder paced the building front looking for any point of entry such as a window, vent, or sewer grate. The wheels were turning. After more than five years, Scully knew for a fact that nothing good ever happened once he started to plot. She also knew that, in lieu of her better judgment, she'd be swept along in whatever scheme he concocted.  
  
"Didn't you see it?" Mulder asked, too preoccupied to wait for her answer.  
  
"See what Mulder? It's pea soup out here." He was already around the side of the warehouse. She shrugged and followed his path. He perched on a dumpster and peered into a small window. "See what?" she repeated.  
  
"There was a green light that passed along the top row of windows. I think that it might have been our specter." He looked down at her. Even in the darkness and fog, there was no mistaking the excitement shimmering in his eyes. "Climb up. I think that you might fit through this open window."  
  
"Kidding, right?" she already knew the answer. She eyed the rusting dumpster. "Well, at least I'll get my money out of last week's Tetanus booster," she commented more to herself than to him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing," Having found a foot hold, Scully levered herself to the top of the dumpster. She stretched out towards Mulder for a hand up. He was too busy squinting into the building to notice. She flung the bag from over the edge of the dumpster and into Mulder's leg.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Oooops, sorry 'bout that." Childish, but worth it, she decided as she clamored to her feet unaided. One day I'm going to let him have it, she lied silently. "So, what are we doing here?"  
  
"I think that you're small enough to fit through this window, and then you can unlock one of the doors. Do you have any rope in that bag?"  
  
"Rope?" Not good. "No, why do you ask?"  
  
He sized her up from head to toe and twisted his mouth to one side. "Well, it's about a twelve foot drop." He turned back to the opening, contemplating. "Give me your coat," his hand motioning for her to hurry up.  
  
"No way! Use yours." she contested.  
  
Mulder looked over his shoulder impatiently, "Mine's not long enough, and it's just nylon and down."  
  
Scully grudgingly surrendered her coat. Mulder threaded her coat through the dusty opening then gave Scully a push up to the ledge. Feet first through the window, she struggled to position herself so that she'd be facing the wall as she descended. One hand groped blindly for Mulder's shoulder as she began to roll over. She was making good progress until her boot became pinned against an unseen obstacle. "I'm stuck, Mulder." He repositioned himself so that his arms surrounded her back and started to pull. All at once, she popped free. Her face landed slightly over his shoulder. As she disentangled herself, she couldn't help but to notice his scent. She derived such a feeling of warmth and safety just from the faint trace of his aftershave--Aramis, if she had to guess--and his own unique smell. Down girl, she thought as she snapped herself out of her reverie and started to climb down the length of her coat. Hand-over-hand, she crept until she came to the last bit of her sleeve, feet swinging in mid air in search of solid ground. She couldn't get to her flashlight to gauge the distance. With no leg hold to stabilize her, her arms began to shake with fatigue as she clung to her coat while hanging over the abyss. "Um, Mulder? I'm thinking that this was a bad idea."  
  
Her voice echoed up to him, and he heard the thin edge of anxiety. "Hang on. I'll pull you up." He began to retract the coat.  
  
Scully inched up the wall. She felt rather than heard the first seam pop. It was followed by another and another. "Stop pullin..." she shrieked as she fell ten feet, landing with a thud in the middle of what felt like a stack of hay.  
  
"Scully, you all right?" Mulder aimed a beam of light in her direction only to have it flicker then fade out entirely. Scully rolled over onto her side and tried her best to draw a breath after having the wind knocked out of her.  
  
"Scully! Are you okay?!" Mulder's head and one arm jammed into the small window as far as they could go. The sight reminded Scully of a prairie dog.  
  
"I'm fine, just had to catch my breath." She paused then scooped up a handful of straw. "There's a pile of hay down here and," She panned her flashlight around her surroundings. "I think that I may have found the missing gun crates. Go around to the front and I'll try to unlock the door." Scully stood and dusted the damp packing straw from her pants. After picking her way across the cluttered warehouse floor, Scully found a rusted service door, bolted closed with a cross bar and padlock. Mulder had her bag and Poseidon had her knife. Improvising, she used a piece of rotting lumber to smack at the ancient lock until it fell slack.  
  
Mulder squeezed through the entrance. He hurried past her, took a quick inventory of the warehouse, then nodded his approval with a hint of mischief. "I like what you've done with the place."  
  
"Glad you approve. Now, are you interested in seeing what's over here, or are you writing a column for 'Better Slums and Gardens'." Without waiting for his retort, she strode back to the stack on which she had landed, then turned her attention to the crates.  
  
Mulder followed. Reaching into the straw, he removed what was left of Scully's coat. The back seam was almost completely torn from the yoke and the right sleeve hung limply by the two or three stitches intact. Well, at least I know what to get her for Christmas this year, he thought as he raised his glance up the wall to the window eighteen feet above. He hadn't realized that the warehouse had a sub floor. Had the straw not been there to break her fall, she might have been seriously injured. You're such a dumb ass, Mulder, he criticized. You are going to get her killed one of these days. His blood froze at the thought. He turned to find her bent over one of the rectangular, rough-hewn boxes.  
  
A lock of her hair kept spilling across her eyes. The rebellious strand fought every attempt to swat it away. With more determination, she tucked it behind her ear then caught it as it began to slide. Annoyed, she puffed at it before unceremoniously shoving it under what would always be known as the "cabinboy hat". He wondered if she had any idea what she did to him. It didn't matter. They would work on this case and then he would put forth a more concerted effort to distance himself from her. He had no choice. Still, the thing that kept him up at night and eluded him at times like these, was the question of how he would ever get her out of his system. In-the-mean-time, he would relish this moment for what it was; another adventure with his best friend. So engrossed in his introspection, he missed the fact that Scully had been calling to him, and was currently standing at his side sarcastically passing her hand back and forth across his eyes.  
  
"Earth to Mulder. Come in Mulder." He snapped back to the present and sneered at her good-naturedly. Visible shivers rattled through Scully, each exhalation brought another plume of steam into the freezing air. Her cold fingers grazed his hand as she reached for her topcoat. She shook her head as she assessed the damage thinking, Better than nothing, I suppose. Mulder helped her on with her coat in an action that seemed strange and familiar at the same time. Her numb fingers fumbled for the buttons then failed after two attempts to fasten the top button. Mulder's arms wrapped around her from behind. She could feel his body, warm and strong. To her disbelief, she relaxed into the shelter of his arms. All the while, her mind struggled for control. Warning bells, hell, warning sirens blared in her head. Mulder was holding her. His face was mere inches from her cheek and closing. She started to ask what he thought he was doing, but the words refused to come outside on such a cold night. Nerves she never knew existed stood at attention, experiencing sensations not conducive to partnership. His lips were almost touching her ear. She tried to swallow as her mouth turned to saw dust. He gave her a bracing squeeze on both shoulders then stepped back, "There you go, Shorty!"  
  
Scully gaped at his retreating form as she assimilated what had just transpired. Only then did it strike her that the top button of her coat had been fastened. Exhaling after an eternity, she reminded herself that Mulder was a tactile kind of person, no big deal. So why was the skin on her neck shouting out for the caress that had been reneged.  
  
"Scully, did you see this?" Mulder crouched beside the empty crates examining some foreign substance attached to the end of his pen. Scully pointed the light at his hand and approached. As she crossed to meet him, she could begin to make out the yellowish residue clinging to Mulder's expensive, soon to be ex-pen.  
  
"What do you think that it is?" Scully hunched beside him and took the offered implement for closer inspection.  
  
"Well, there have been several ghost sightings in this area over the past week." He concluded his summations satisfied that no other explanation was necessary.  
  
Scully glanced his way. He had the look that she dreaded. Past experience taught her that the flight into philosophical fancy was about to depart. Hunker down, she thought. "So?" Mulder straightened his spine then rolled his shoulders in her direction as he graced her with his full attention.  
  
His monologue began with the raising of one eyebrow as one of his hands lightly touched her coat, drawing her closer into the realm where secrets and fantastical tales were shared. "Some believe that there is an electrical boundary existing between the world of the living and the world of the dead. By crossing this field, spectral entities act as catalysts, turning normal atmospheric elements into a sticky phospholipid plasma. Parapsychologists have documented the phenomenon all over the world. Some aboriginal tribesmen claim to have collected this substance and use it in their ceremonial paints as a way to integrate the spiritual dream land with the waking world by building a bridge through their dances performed with the plasma based paint. Maybe our specter wanted the weapons and took them out of the reach of men who seek to harm the innocent. Maybe..."  
  
Scully put up a hand to stop him. "Maybe we'll run into Bill Murrey and the other Ghostbusters while we're down here.  
  
Here it comes, mused Mulder, Scully 101, and I left my number two pencil at home.  
  
"Mulder, that residue could be any number of things." She pulled into standing by tugging on Mulder's jacket for a boost as her frozen limbs groaned in protest. "Pine tar, Insect droppings, mucus, coagulated fish oil, motor oil, petroleum jelly, Karo syrup," she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and said with a sly smile, "K-Y lubricant." He rewarded her with a surprised laugh. "Just seeing if you were listening." She leaned over and picked up a lid to one of the boxes. Something wet toughed her finger. Upon closer inspection, she discovered that her fingers were covered with fresh ink. She opened her mouth to tell Mulder that the crates must have been printed very recently and that she strongly suspected a set-up when a flash of brilliant green light came from the other end of the building. Before she could react, Mulder took off in hot pursuit. "Mulder!" she yelled. "Lord, if you could help him to look before he leaps occasionally, it would really simplify my life," she pleaded. "Wait up!" she called to him, no longer able to spot the bouncing strobe of his flashlight in the distance.  
  
A sound from somewhere upstairs filled the far corner of the building. Scully followed cautiously. The muffled noise sounded to be that of a sobbing woman. "Mulder? Were are you?" No answer. "Mulder! Answer me!" Scully stumbled into a flight of stairs and ran up them, taking the steps two at a time and almost falling over Mulder's abandoned flash light on the second landing. Having arrived atop the landing, Scully saw it.  
  
One hundred feet in front of her, a woman sat on the ground, hovering over a dead child. They were both transparent and glowed a bright, eerie green. Scully found herself mesmerized by the apparition who turned to look at her. Scully dared not move. Then, in a voice that seemed to resonate, the woman began to speak. "Help me. Please," she beseeched. "Help me. No one will help my baby. Help me, you must. Please." The ghost lifted her son's head upon her lap and began to weep once more.  
  
Scully wrestled with her conscience. The doctor in her pulled her to act in her capacity to render medical assistance without reservation. The cynic in her held her back, reminding her of the wet ink down stairs and about how clearly this exercise had been defined, even prioritized from the beginning.  
  
The glow from Scully's flashlight scanned the room, searching methodically for any other pieces of the puzzle that she might happen upon. Wooden barrels, cardboard boxes, beer bottles and miscellaneous trash lined the walls.  
  
A gray cat bolted out from behind the debris exclaiming a loud, "re- ow-eow!" and in the process, gave Scully a mild heart attack. "Jeez!" she swore through clenched teeth as her hand clung to her sternum. One deep breath later, she continued her search for Mulder, calling out for him again, fear rising in her chest when there was no reply. Scully advanced cautiously towards the ghost. The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. Her intuition told her to freeze in her tracks. Her eyes were inexplicably drawn to a support beam above her head. She shined the flashlight along the timber, and was surprised to see it glint off of a metallic box suspended by electrical tape. It took her all of two seconds to recognize the object as a projector and less time than that to break out in a cold sweat; knowing that this was more than the doings of pranksters. It was far too elaborate, too controlled. "Oh God, where's Mulder?"  
  
Forcing down the panic that threatened to overtake her. "Mulder?!" She waited for his call. "Mulder?! Answer me, damn it!" She prayed for a response, incapable of contemplating the possibility that he would be taken away from her or injured in any way. Her mouth opened for another cry, but was quickly silenced. What the..? Thumping. She felt it. There was a thumping coming from below her feet.  
  
Setting her flashlight aside, she bent on hands and knees then pressed her ear to the floor. He was yelling and beating his fists against the wood; that much was certain. He was alive. He was near. She strained to discern his words through the heavy oak timbers. "Tap Floor? I can't understand you!" she yelled back at him. He continued to shout, trying desperately to communicate with her. She listened again, concentrating as much as possible given the fact that she had a knot in her gut the size of an orange. No good, she acquiesced. This isn't working.  
  
She stood, turned, turned back, and turned again trying desperately to figure out what to do next. She shuffled two small steps back and suddenly found the question of how to get to Mulder had been answered. The ground opened up beneath her feet, and she plummeted through the hole, arms flung over her head, feet swinging wildly before colliding with the surface below which happened to be made up of some kind of foam mat or insulation and a crumpled Mulder.  
  
There was no light, not a speck. Squinting and straining, Scully tried in vain to see her surroundings, mentally kicking herself for leaving her flashlight behind. She began to clamber to her feet. Mulder's arm stretched upwards partly to give Scully a boost and partly to free himself from conceivably the most uncomfortable position he'd been in since the ninth grade during a co-ed game of "Twister." "What are you doing?" Scully asked calmly from the darkness.  
  
"Helping you up," remarked an impatient Mulder as though it had been the most asinine question in the world. A small "thud" followed by a string of expletives punctuated his retort as he had tried--for the second time--to rise to his full height, forgetting that the space couldn't be any higher than six feet.  
  
Mulder heard a surprised intake of air, and then a long pause before Scully finally let out the breath. Her head tilted in his direction, and from the darkness came a low and very un-Scully-like tone of voice. "Um, where's your hand?"  
  
"On the ceiling." Came his annoyed, distracted reply while he continued to probe the ceiling for a doorway or for some other means of escape.  
  
Scully remained stock-still. "Not that hand," she breathed, "the other one" A thin line of tension tugged at her words, drawing Mulder's attention.  
  
Mulder immediately halted his investigation of the floorboards over head. There was something in her voice that bespoke curiosity, anxiety, and, although he could be wrong, excitement. "On your shoulder?" he offered cautiously, almost a whisper. Of their own volition, his fingers moved to examine the body part in question. His thumb grazed the very same button that he had helped to fasten earlier that evening . Slowly it dawned on him that she had been leaning her head against the wall behind her for support.  
  
"Mulder," Scully placed her hand lightly over his, "that's not my shoulder."  
  
Let go, implored the Superego.  
  
All right! Go for it! quipped the Id.  
  
The Ego began its insightful mediation. Move your hand and pretend that you didn't notice that your palm is surrounding the soft, pliant breast of an incredibly beautiful woman in the anonymity of darkness.....Move Your Hand Now! corrected the Ego.  
  
The Ego won this particular battle of wills. Almost. Mulder tentatively pulled his hand away, closing his fingers as he withdrew, forever imprinting them with the memory of just how good it felt to touch her body--even if it was through three layers of clothing.  
  
"Oh," he managed to utter with hopefully enough shock to award him the guise of innocence. "Sorry 'bout that."  
  
Scully heard him dust his hands off in an unconscious attempt to erase his blunder and move forward. Beads of perspiration began to gather above Scully's lip as crimson heat ascended her face. A silent prayer of gratitude filled her mind. She was appreciative of the blackness that surrounded her, hiding her flushed cheeks. Even more so, Scully lifted up praise for the heavy coat that had concealed from Mulder the physical evidence of just how aroused she had become from his accidental grope. She swallowed hard and shook away the dangerous thoughts regarding her partner and his unnerving ability to make her momentarily forget everything but the sound of his voice, the smell of his skin, and the secret desires of which she dare not speak; barely admitting their existence to herself.  
  
"So," Scully redirected. "What do you suggest we do now?"  
  
A half an hour later, Mulder fell back against the wall as his body sagged from total exhaustion. Despite the chill, he was bathed in sweat. His lungs fought for much needed air, each breath released in another shudder. Trying to speak between pants, "Scully, um," he gulped for air, "that was, that was, um" He struggled to expel the words from his dry mouth. "That was a really stupid idea."  
  
Scully sighed with exasperation. "That's what I was trying to tell you before you charged ahead as usual."  
  
"Yeah, well," Mulder grew defensive. "Tap floor? Why the hell would I be shouting, 'tap floor'?" Mulder listened for Scully's next statement, waiting to pounce.  
  
Seconds ticked by. Scully slid down the wall next to Mulder and hung her head. She had no more fight, no more energy to waste lobbing spiteful accusations at her partner. Steering the conversation back to their immediate threat, she told him of the projector and the fresh paint. "Why would someone go to all of this trouble just to capture us in this chamber? Why not just shoot us or something?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. A surge of images invaded her mind in rapid succession. In the space of one or two seconds, she saw mothmen, serial killers, mind controllers, and a frame or two of hazy recollection from her abduction. She quickly crammed the memories back into the Pandora's box of her mind.  
  
Mulder felt her unease and felt compelled to comfort her a little. "It could be as simple as a prank or an accident." He hoped that his voice had sounded somewhat convincing.  
  
Scully gave a snort of cynical amusement. "You don't really believe that , do you?" Scully drew her legs up to her chest, and hugged them closely to ward off the icy air that surrounded her.  
  
Mulder scooted over and draped an arm around her shoulders, sharing his body heat with the petite redhead chattering in the night. "Not really, but I thought I'd give it a try." He pulled her a little closer until she leaned against his chest. Resting his chin on top of her head, he began to theorize. Scully's professional self was tempted to push him off, but the heat emitted from his body was heavenly and, truth be told, she relished the times that he intruded into her personal space. It shouldn't feel so wonderful to be held by your partner, best friend even, but she wouldn't trade these fleeting moments for all of the chocolate in the world.  
  
"The assignment came from Skinner himself. Do you think that he had something to do with this?" Scully asked and then waited for her partner to formulate his assessment. She head a soft crack and smiled, seeing his sunflower seed ritual with her mind's eye.  
  
"It's hard to say for certain, but this is obviously more than the work of a single individual." Mulder's voice had the edge to it that always alerted Scully to the possibility of real danger. "Who ever it was really knew how to set a convincing trap for us. Should have listened to my instincts."  
  
"I know what you mean. Something just didn't feel right about the whole case. When was the last time that I knew almost as much about the preliminaries as you did?" Scully struggled with herself not to smile in the midst of such a serious situation but failed miserably.  
  
"I'm hurt, Scully," he teased before ducking his head to her shoulder and murmured into her ear, "I thought that you wanted me to fill you in, if you know what I mean." The sexual remark was answered by a shiver from Scully's duplicitous spine.  
  
In the past, they would exchange teasing and flirtatious banter without a second thought. Harmless fun. Now however, Scully felt as if she were teetering on a tight rope. Unseen forces continually knocked her off balance, yet she walked that strait line. She studied the wiggling high wire stretched before her as she willed her feet to take another cautious step towards her goal. However, with each precarious pace, she made no progress, no end in sight as the tower platform became a mere dot on the horizon. Below her, the net waited for her to fling herself into its safety. It beckoned to her with the sweet promise of finality. It would be so easy to fall, but would she miss the net and plummet to the ground? Even if she survived the fall, would she long to be back up there, walking on the tight rope for just a little while longer?  
  
With oppressive resignation, she hefted the pole to her chest mentally and took another step, balancing upon the path that they had chosen a long time ago. "If you don't mover your head, I'm going to fill *you* in with bullets." She squirmed out of his grasp as if his touch had been merely tolerated while it served a function and now was something to be cast off like a rain soaked jacket.  
  
"Bullets? Did you say Bullets?" Mulder hopped up without warning, nearly knocking Scully into the opposite wall before, "whack!" "Son-of -a," hitting his head on the ceiling.  
  
"That's three." Scully announced and pulled herself up to stand beside him. "You're going to have brain damage if you keep doing that." She chucked lightly to herself then added, "Oh wait, that would explain everything. You didn't sleep on an upper bunk in college, did you?"  
  
"Cute, but at least *I* get to ride on the *adult* rollercoasters." Mulder actually heard Scully shoot him a look. "Do you want to listen to my idea now, or shall we pit our height differences against one another in a tournament of limbo dancing and shooting hoops?" Before Mulder began to spout his plan, Scully surmised that shooting bullets into the trap door might loosen the thin wood enough to kick it open. However, any ricochet in such a tiny space could end in serious injury or death. Mulder listened patiently, agreeing with her silently then asked, "Any better ideas?"  
  
"Yeah, use you as a battering ram. Um," she stalled. "Maybe, Help me pull this insulating foam up." Mulder obliged without comment.  
  
The pad beneath them came loose rather easily adding more suspicion that this had been a well-laid trap and containment cell. He kept quiet, knowing that Scully was surely thinking the same thing. Very little escaped her attention. She possessed a wealth of resourcefulness and brilliance. The fact that all of her compassion, intelligence and talent was gift wrapped so beautifully, sometimes made Mulder think twice about the existence of God. People like Scully are too fantastically perfect to have been created from a random convergence of molecules. To Mulder, she was a force of nature; a gentle rain, a hurricane, the breeze that turns the Earth.  
  
Destiny had a greater purpose for Scully since the day of her birth; Mulder was convinced of it. The only thing that he wasn't sure of was why such a woman would waste her time by chasing his shadows. She should have so much more. He sobered. It was selfish to keep her by his side; and, although he hated the thought of hurting her, he knew that it was up to him to set her free now, before she had any more time to regret their association and leave him at some inevitable point in the future.  
  
"Yoo-hoo, are you helping or not?" Scully had pried the last of the foam from the walls and the floor, breaking several nails in the process. With Mulder's assistance, they wrapped the layers around themselves, trying not to think about what could have been stuck to them in a building that old. "Now I know what it feels like to be a giant burrito." She looked at Mulder, as if she could see him beside her. She could have sworn that she saw him draw his gun. The pseudotelepathy continued, and she knew to aim for the corner, stoop into the foam, and fire several rounds on the count of three.  
  
The deafening concussion of gunfire rang out as the agents fired eight or nine slugs into the wood. They were rewarded by their efforts by a cascade of moonlight and the glow from the projector falling through the holes. Mulder balled up his jacket around his fist and delivered one solid punch to the door above sending it flying. Mulder grimaced and clutched his hand. Scully merely examined the hand, no broken bones thankfully and decreed, "My hero," batting her eyelashes for effect.  
  
"Yeah right, wise-ass. Now will you get on my back and climb out of here? I promise not to bang your head on anything." Mulder concluded as Scully used him as a human ladder.  
  
Too easy, she thought, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to fashion a creative comment from his last statement. Rather, once outside of the chamber, she reached down to help Mulder who stood on the foam for better leverage.  
  
Once free, he inquired, "Care to investigate Agent Scully or should we just get the hell out of here and look into it tomorrow?" In silent agreement, they gathered their belongings and got the hell out of there.  
  
*****  
  
Scully leaned her head against the dark upholstery of Mulder's car. The roads were slow because of the inclement weather. Unable to stifle the inevitable, Scully yawned, stretched and willed her eyes to stay open. Mulder looked on in amazement. Scully caught his gaze, "What?"  
  
"There are pythons in the Amazon that can't unhinge their jaws that much." Mulder blinked into the headlights of some moron driving with his brights on in this weather.  
  
Scully took the initiative to keep the conversation going less they both drift off to slumber land and wrap the car around a tree. "I used to impress my brothers by stuffing two fully loaded hot-dogs in my mouth at one time." Why did I say that? she questioned as her inner self covered its head in embarrassment.  
  
Meanwhile, Mulder was trying really hard to think of a cute little girl in pigtails grossing out her brothers with a new stunt versus, well, Don't think about it, he told himself sternly. Change the subject. "So, how's your family?"  
  
Scully accepted the cue, mentally thanking him for taking the high road. She really needed to go visit her mom. Saturday, she pledged. "They're fine. I'm a little out of touch these past few weeks. I talked with Mom the other night on the phone. She says, 'hi', by-the-way." Scully glanced over to see a sentimental smile forming on Mulder's mouth. The streetlights filtered through the drizzle and the fog to create a blue half-light silhouetting his features except for highlighted planes of his face here and there. Scully smiled too.  
  
"Tell her I said 'hi' back." Then, with no other choices for small talk other than to be nosey, "What'd you talk about?"  
  
Mulder's question surprised her. Not only had it been extremely personal, it also pertained to nothing X-files related. Maybe, just maybe, she could kill two birds with one stone. "She's been nagging me to go shopping with her." Scully chuckled. "She even offered to buy me a new dress. The last time that happened, I was seventeen years old."  
  
As she spoke, Mulder relaxed into the warmth of family life even if he only experienced it vicariously through Scully's stories. He also would never pass up an opportunity to uncover a new tile of insight into the complicated mosaic that was Dana Scully. "What did you buy when you were seventeen?"  
  
"Don't laugh." Mulder nodded in agreement. "It was a prom dress." Mulder's mouth twitched, but he didn't so much as grin. "It was a hideous, taffeta, puffy-sleeved, ruffle-trimmed prom dress." Scully looked to make sure that he was keeping a straight face.  
  
His eyes were on the climate control panel as he fiddled with the defrost buttons. Without looking up, "Color?"  
  
Scully stared straight ahead and answered with all of the seriousness one might expect from a "60 Minutes" report. "Disco Peach" Mulder's eyes cut sideways to ascertain whether or not she had been joking. She hadn't.  
  
A strangled chortle fought valiantly to escape from Murder's throat.  
  
"It's not funny!" she protested just for the sake of protesting.  
  
"Yes it is," he replied, no longer holding in his amusement. When he laughed, really laughed, there was no way that she could keep from joining in, even if it was at her expense. "So, what kind of dress are you after now?"  
  
Scully recalled the weird bit of conversation with her mother from earlier that week:  
  
"Mom, it's just an FBI function. I'll just dress up my long black suit with some pearls or something."  
  
  
  
Her mother came back with, "The one you wore last year, that looked almost identical to the one the year before that?  
  
  
  
"Yes Mother, what's your point?"  
  
  
  
Margaret Scully softened her tone, "Honey, you're never going to get that man's attention in that plain, old black suit."  
  
  
  
Scully interrupted, "Mom, Agent Mulder and I are just..."  
  
  
  
"Friends," they said in unison.  
  
  
  
"Dana, I'm old, not blind and neither are you. Why the two of you can't see what is painfully obvious to the rest of us is beyond me."  
  
  
  
It isn't that we can't see it, Scully thought. It's just that we choose not to.  
  
  
  
Her mother continued. "Shake things up, Dana. Change your life a little. You might like it. I mean, I just read in last week's copy of 'Redbook' that a woman's sexual peak doesn't start until she is in her mid-thirties." Maggie paused. "How old are you now?"  
  
  
  
"Mom!"  
  
  
  
"If you change your mind about shopping, give me a call." With that, Margaret Scully hung up while Dana stood, mouth agape, receiver in hand, trying to process the fact that her mother had just been giving her sex advice.  
  
  
  
"That was the kind of conversation that sends people into therapy." Scully said to herself as she returned the phone to its cradle.  
  
  
  
"Scully!" Mulder's voice pulled her back from retrospection. "So, what does she want to buy for you?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, sorry." Scully cleared her mind , thinking that this was going to be her best shot at getting him to ask her to go with him. She was feeling more and more adolescent with each passing second. Recovering, "She's been after me to get something for the Anniversary Ball tomorrow night."  
  
"Don't you usually just wear that black suit with your grandmother's pearls?" Scully was a sensible woman--tattoo fiasco excluded. She stayed mainly with conservative, professional attire and very light makeup. If it was up to him, which it wasn't of course, he'd like to see her in something other than the black garments that permeated her wardrobe lately. Maybe darker lipstick too.... Get a grip, Mulder.  
  
Scully nodded, annoyed that she had become so predictable, more annoyed that he expected her to remain that way. "What are you wearing?"  
  
Mulder was obtuse and egocentric, but not so thick that he'd miss an opening like that one. The last thing in the world that he should do is spend an evening laughing with his partner over champagne and music. He knew that she expected him to ask her to be his escort, platonically of course. Unfortunately, he also knew that there was no way to push her away without hurting her a little in the process. The sooner he got it over with, the better. "I'm not going," he said finally. He pulled his car into her parking lot and idled at the entrance.  
  
"What do you mean, you're not going?"  
  
He heard the confusion in her voice. After all, they'd been having a great time, ghosts, traps, breaking and entering included. "Not in the mood, I guess. Socializing isn't exactly my thing." He hoped that he hadn't sounded too callous.  
  
Scully's mouth made a silent "O". She reached to the floorboard for her bag and lifted the door handle. Then, looking back, "I think that Skinner expects you to be there."  
  
Mulder shrugged and averted his eyes before saying, "Uh, maybe I'll stop by or something. Put in a brief appearance. Are you going to be there for certain?"  
  
"Yes," she said with just enough hope in her voice to squeeze his heart.  
  
He loathed himself for what he did next. He told himself that this would be better in the long run. At that particular moment, he wasn't sure about anything. "Well, if I don't show, you can talk to Skinner and get back to me." He couldn't look her in the eye.  
  
"Sure, I guess." Scully's words fell flat against the wet pavement as she stepped out of his car and into the cold November rain. "Goodnight." The door slammed shut. He watched her through the windshield wipers and ached at the sight of her slumped shoulders that most likely had less to do with fatigue and lousy weather, and more to do with disappointment and betrayal.  
  
He waited until her apartment light came on before pulling away. Suddenly, the air around him, even life itself, seemed too heavy to bear; crushing and relentless. The worst part was knowing that he had directly been the cause of her sorrow. There weren't any "theys", "its", or "thems" to blame this time, only Mulder himself. When he glanced into the rear- view mirror before changing lanes, he was disgusted at the person he saw staring back at him.  
  
*****  
  
"They what?" shouted the leader as he pounded his fist onto the counter top next to the surveillance equipment's receiving box.  
  
"I can't say that I'm surprised," commented another man from the shadows. He stepped forward towards the leader and a third operative. "It was a poorly conceived trap at best. The only thing salvageable from this disaster is that their communication has disintegrated further."  
  
"Time to send in our man?" asked the third already routing his next phone transmission through three satellites over five countries to guard against tracing.  
  
The leader nodded in agreement. "Yes, we just might be able to turn tonight's failure to our advantage. Call Skinner. Set it up. It's time to call in our final marker."  
  
*****  
  
"Buuuuuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-WHAP!" Scully silenced her evil alarm clock with one, well-aimed deathblow. It couldn't possibly be time to get up already. Warm flannel sheets held her in a soft, morning caress as she stretched beneath the covers in a poor attempt to shake off her drowsiness. Her eyes drifted shut as she felt herself being pulled back down into the bed's sanctuary. "Just five more minutes," whispered the bed.  
  
Eyes wide open, Scully heaved a heavy sigh, flipped the covers back, and vaulted off of the bed in one fluid movement. She stumbled into her bathroom, blinking back the morning brightness that streamed in from the beveled glass windows. Still half asleep, she loaded her toothbrush and started the faucet. The brand name displayed on the tap read "Mullond". Her sleepy brain transformed the letters into ones that said "Mulder" for an instant. The syntax error washed away morning amnesia, and Scully quickly recounted the events of last night.  
  
Her reflection in the mirror revealed dark circles under her tired eyes and a superficial scratch on her left cheek from last night's escapade. Remembering too, Mulder's brush-off and extra-odd behavior, she thought, Yep, just like this faucet, he runs hot and cold.  
  
Scully peered out the bathroom door and looked longingly at her rumpled bed. All she wanted to do was to crawl back under the comforter and not come out again until Mulder started to act normally, well, normally for Mulder anyway. She was definitely not looking forward to today. Still, duty calls.  
  
*****  
  
Scully stood outside of their office door, dreading the moment that she would walk in and see Mulder. All through her commute, she ran possible scenarios in her head that might explain his recent enigmatical actions. Yesterday, she would have sworn that it was only his overdeveloped guilt regarding her well being that had reinforced the barricade between them. That dealt with, they had fallen back into the same old comfortable rhythm during last night's stake out. Everything had been cruising right along then, "SPLAT!" communication collision. The pile up seemed to have been triggered when the conversation turned to the subject of tonight's banquet.  
  
Scully expected Mulder to go with her. Why not? As far as she was concerned, she'd put her social life on indefinite hold in order to chase Mulder's mysteries by the light of the full moon for the better part of six years. By simply aligning herself with him, defending him on numerous occasions, she had opened herself up to personal attacks. Heck, if she was going to be referred to as "Mrs. Spooky" by sniggering colleagues, she might as well get a date out of the deal. Did he really think that it didn't matter that she would now have to go alone and make small talk with those same two-faced coworkers who laughed behind her back? How could he do that to her? When was the last time she had abandoned him? The longer she thought about it, the madder she became; anger easily pushing depression aside. With a deep breath, she decided that she was going to march right in and give him a piece of her mind.  
  
Without knocking, Scully burst through the door and demanded attention. "Mulder!" she shouted into the empty room. "Mulder?" It was 8:15 a.m. Where was he? Her gaze fell upon his deserted desk. "He wouldn't..." She already knew the answer. She walked slowly to the desk, eyes closed, pleading inwardly, hoping that she wasn't about to see what she was about to see. Having reached the desk, Scully slowly opened her eyes, peeking sideways at the dreaded confirmation. Her blood began to boil as she leaned over and snatched up the object of her disdain: a little, yellow post-it note. Seething, she read the message.  
  
Cabinboy,  
  
I'll be following up some leads regarding last night.  
  
Back at 4:00 p.m. or so. Can you: 1. Type the preliminaries,  
  
2. Begin researching next week's cases (on my desk),  
  
3. Cover for me at the budget meeting (11:00 a.m.).  
  
-M  
  
Scully, the epitome of calm, took two steps backwards, inhaled deeply, and totally lost it. "Bastard!" she exclaimed and reared up a foot to kick his desk hard enough to dent it. The impact ruined a brand new pair of Italian pumps and sent her hopping across the office in pain. For the next ninety-two and a half seconds, nothing intelligible came out of her mouth. Rather, a long string of grunts and mumbles spewed forth from her lips punctuated by wildly flinging arms and the periodic thud of her fist on the desktop. Breathing hard, emotionally spent, and peripherally aware that she was raving like a lunatic before an open doorway, Scully stood, smoothed her dark gray suit into place, tucked her hair behind an ear, retrieved her purse and brief case, and quietly picked up the yellow scrap of paper that sought only to demean and to placate. Her angry glare all but burnt holes into the note before she crumpled it up in her fist and tossed it back down to his desk. "Bite-Me, Mulder." With that, she turned on her heel and headed out the door.  
  
As she crested the stairs, she spotted Skinner fishing change out of his pocket for the newspaper machine. Scully decided to do a little fishing of her own. "Morning, Sir."  
  
Skinner spun around at the unexpected sound of Agent Scully's voice.  
  
"I wasn't expecting to see you at headquarters today, Sir." Skinner appeared to be uneasy to Scully's well-trained eye, but then, Skinner often looked uneasy.  
  
"Oh, I forgot about the budget meeting this morning. Where is Agent Mulder?"  
  
Scully started to automatically cover for her partner then concluded that it wasn't her job to clean up after him all of the time. "I'm not sure, Sir. I assume that he is in the field today. We had an interesting night on assignment last night."  
  
Skinner's eyes dropped to the change nervously jingling in his palm. The non-verbal communication wasn't wasted on her. "Did you turn up anything?"  
  
"Not really," Scully hedged. "I'll let you know when the preliminary report has been completed."  
  
Skinner met her eyes and his stern expression softened a fraction. He noticed the small scrape next to her ear and felt a pang of remorse. "I'm sure that will be fine, Agent Scully. Was there anything else that you needed?" Skinner turned his back to her and plugged two quarters into the antiquated machine. The ear-piercing screech of rusted metal on rusted metal caused passers-by to wince before the slamming door heralded another successful newspaper transaction.  
  
"Actually Sir," Scully really didn't want to explain herself, "I was just bringing up our budget report and," Scully stalled, "and,"  
  
"And? Agent Scully, I'm in kind of a hurry here." Skinner had already taken two powerful strides down the hallway leaving Agent Scully to trot after him and to take his arm in an effort to slow him down.  
  
"And, I really need to take a personal day today." Offering the budget folder to him, "Everything is right here, no new surprises, and-- you'll be happy to see--that I didn't allow Mulder to add sunflower seeds, porn magazines, or basketball tickets to the expense account this quarter." Skinner *almost* smiled.  
  
He recognized that she too was always caught in the middle. It was terrible place to be. "Sure, you still have several weeks coming to you, you know?"  
  
That was too easy, Scully pondered. "Thank you, Sir." Skinner nodded in her general direction and continued down the hall, leaving her to speculate about his possible involvement in last night's ghost busting disaster.  
  
Skinner settled into his leather chair and tried his best to skim the morning paper. Instead, his thoughts kept coming back to Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, and the real reason he had come in to the office today following another secretive phone call in the middle of last night. How many times could a man be blackmailed in one lifetime? He probably didn't want to know the answer.  
  
Because of his actions today, he ran the risk of breaking apart one of the most successful law enforcement pairs with whom he had ever worked. If that happened, would there be anyone to check the hidden powers that be and their even more secretive agendas? It was a risk that Skinner would never have willingly been a part of, but had reluctantly gone along with all the same. Regardless of their innumerable personal sacrifices, Agents Mulder and Scully continued with admirable tenacity on their quest to uncover the truth however bizarre or dangerous that truth might be. He admired their spirit and integrity. He marveled at their combined intellect. He constantly feared for their safety. And now *he* was one of the unseen puppeteers who orchestrated their fates. He pulled a roll of antacids from his top desk drawer, peeled his third tablet that morning, popped the chalky disk into his mouth, and tried with little success not to think about what he had done.  
  
*****  
  
Scully didn't have a clue of where she was headed as she stormed out of the elevator and rushed around a cement column towards her car. She rammed directly into someone coming from the other direction. Knocked flat on her butt, Scully looked with dismay at the papers scattered around her and almost cried out in frustration.  
  
"Oh Gosh, I'm sorry ma'am. Here, let me help you up." Scully detected a hint of a southern drawl and looked up at the outstretched hand of her assailant. She realized that her palm was covered with motor oil. Upon closer inspection, her previously shredded coat was also being pressed into the slick, black grease that pooled on the cold, gray concrete beneath her. Pushing herself up without assistance, she shrugged out of her coat, remarking to herself that the heavily abused garment was now totally beyond redemption. That being the case, she wiped the oil from her palm onto the coat sleeve and tossed the remains into a near-by trash barrel.  
  
Scully opened her mouth to ask why he wasn't looking where he was going when she looked up and saw him scurrying all over the garage, capturing loose papers swirling in the brisk morning air. The picture that he made threatened to make her crack up. The tall, well-dressed man chased down the renegade pages and stuffed his quarry under one arm before continuing the hunt. Ducking under cars and using one lanky arm to latch onto the documents, Scully thought that he resembled a well-dressed primate of some kind. He bounded back to her and presented her with a wrinkled disarray formally known as her next case file. The profuse apologies ensued.  
  
"Gosh, I'm so, so sorry, Ma'am. I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you okay, Ma'am?"  
  
Scully's first impulse was to get defensive over the whole "ma'am" thing. But, when she looked up into his chocolate brown eyes behind the silver frames of his glasses, she saw that he was sincere in his apology. "I'm fine. You Okay?"  
  
"Oh, fine, Ma'am."  
  
"Dana. Special Agent Dana Scully," she introduced herself and waited for him to do the same, which of course, he didn't. "And you are?" she led looking at his ID badge.  
  
"Oh, where are my manners. Dr. Michael Adams, at you service." He took her hand in his and shook it once lightly. "Call me Mike." He glanced past her shoulder at the garbage can. "I'm truly sorry about your coat, Ma'am...Dana. Here, uh, hold this," he shoved his scraggly accordion file folder into her arms and started to take off his own jacket.  
  
Scully bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting to his exceedingly friendly, puppy-like manner. "No, no, that's okay." She put up a hand to stop his act of impromptu chivalry. "I'm headed home anyway. Um. Thanks all the same." She started to turn back to her car when curiosity got the better of her. "You're not from around here, are you?"  
  
"Pretty obvious, huh?"  
  
Scully nodded in agreement with a hint of a smile.  
  
"I just got into town this morning. I'm from Texas, mostly."  
  
"What do you do for the Bureau?" She was freezing, but something about his open manner and his easy going personality compelled her to stay.  
  
"Well, when I'm not out broadsiding gorgeous FBI agents, I do chemical analysis and microforensics for a private firm. We have a contract with the government to upgrade some of the crime labs. Basically, I'm tech support for a few weeks until everything is installed and working perfectly."  
  
Scully smiled inwardly at his unexpected compliment. Her professional interest piqued. "I deal with forensic pathology myself."  
  
"Great," he stated enthusiastically. "Can you tell me how to get to concourse E, room 238, Microbiology and Forensic Department? I'm really late, and really lost."  
  
Scully laughed outright. No hidden agenda with this guy. "Sure." She rambled off the complicated directions adding that it *was* extremely easy to get turned around in the complex. A part of her psyche observed the interaction and deliberated, Why don't you go out and find a nice man like Mike here and stop running after phantoms in the night? "Good luck, Mike," she concluded and turned to unlock her door.  
  
"Wait." Mike's hand brushed her shoulder, the familiarity of the gesture stirred feelings of tenderness and companionship from deep within her for a brief moment before she was overcome by regret after realizing that it hadn't been Mulder's touch. Why did it have to be Mulder's touch or nothing at all? She loathed her vulnerability to a man who would never give her what she wanted, even though she didn't know exactly what that entailed. "Are you sure that there's nothing I can do for you?"  
  
An idea sparked to life behind her eyes. "Actually Mike, there might be something after all."  
  
*****  
  
Scully checked her watch for the third time in less than five minutes then drank another gulp of chicory and Colombian blended coffee and steamed milk. Calm down, Dana, her inner voice cajoled. She pushed the caffeinated drink aside, and attempted, once more, to quiet the turmoil and nervous energy that raced through her veins. She glanced around at her surroundings. Containers of gourmet coffee beans lined the walls behind gleaming brass rails. The combined aromas thickened the air; a rich, dark cocoon of heavenly scents woven softly around all who came within its reach. The room itself seemed to balk at the fluorescently lit hustle and bustle of the shopping mall past its threshold. After popping the last bit of biscotti into her mouth, Scully looked up and saw the one person in the world who could help her with today's mission.  
  
Margaret Scully made her way to the back of the Wake-Up Call Cafe in search of her daughter.  
  
Scully stood and welcomed her mother's embrace. "Hi sweetheart. I'm so glad you called."  
  
As Scully hugged her mother hello, she felt a knot in her throat and the urge to just lean into her mother's arms and have a good cry. Why is it always so easy to breakdown in the face of maternal concern? Scully wondered as she fought to regain control of the situation. Just tired, she concluded. Yeah, that's it. By the time she pulled away, her emotions were neatly tucked behind her mask of stoicism once again. "Hi Mom, thanks for coming."  
  
"My pleasure, Dana. I'm always happy to see you. Now, what's going on? You were a little vague on the phone." Maggie lowered herself into a seat and gestured for her daughter to do the same.  
  
"The art of vague phone calls must be rubbing off on me," came the cynical response to her mother's remark. She smiled just to prove to herself that she could at this point and began. "Well, you know how we were talking about tonight's anniversary ball and what I was planning to wear?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Scully shifted uncomfortably in her chair feeling her back begin to stiffen after an hour of sitting in a seat that left her feet dangling. "Well, it's no big crisis or anything. I just changed my mind about wearing that suit again."  
  
Scully looked up into her mother's gentle face. She had always thought of her mother as being cast from another time. She was nurturing, but not overtly so. Despite her petite build and curls, Margaret Scully was as tough as nails. Scully imagined that her mother should have been a pioneer. Then again, any woman would have to embody a pioneer's spirit in order to raise a large family as a Navy wife. Scully needed to borrow a little of her mother's fortitude today.  
  
Maggie looked at her baby-girl with surprise. "What brought this on?"  
  
"Nothing, really..." Scully hedged, averting her eyes.  
  
"Does it have anything to do with a tall, dark, and handsome, partner?"  
  
"No." Scully blurted a little too quickly.  
  
Maggie hid her smile. Interesting. "Aren't you going to the dance with Fox?"  
  
"'Mulder", Mother, and I wouldn't go with him if hw was the last man on Earth." Scully huffed.  
  
"Fight?" Margaret ventured carefully thinking that Dana's explanation should be interesting.  
  
Scully took a sip from her Styrofoam cup and nearly gagged on the separated, cold coffee dregs. "Yes. No. Yes. I mean, sort of. I think... Yes, most definitely. Well?..."  
  
Maggie looked on in amazement. She hadn't seen Dana this flustered since right before her senior prom. She had looked so innocent and lovely all in peach taffeta and ruffles, Maggie recalled wistfully. "What happened?"  
  
"Nothing exactly. He's been so flaky lately." Scully sighed and signaled a passing waiter for two decaff lattes. "He usually takes off to go running after some hunch or promise of enlightenment. Sometimes, I think that he'd go all the way to Tibet for lunch with the Dalai Lama if he thought that it might turn up a lead." Scully gnashed her teeth before continuing. "I can stand most of his odd behavior. I chalk it up to the eccentricities of brilliance mostly. I can stand almost everything when it comes to Mulder."  
  
Maggie took the steaming cups from the waiter, setting one cup in front of Scully. "And?" she asked simply.  
  
"And, I can't stand it anymore." Scully had no intention of dumping months of frustration into her mother's lap, but it came pouring out all the same. "He's always been protective, but lately, its overkill. He's working by himself and leaving me with nothing to do all day but gofer jobs. He doesn't call. He doesn't show up at two in the morning and beg me to join him on the clandestine mission of the week. He doesn't want to 'bother' me after hours. He leaves these little damned notes all over the place instead of talking to me. Hell, until yesterday, I hadn't worked with him in the field in almost a month!" Scully finally took a breath and noted that her hand shook slightly as she reached for her coffee.  
  
Dana cursing? thought Maggie in mild shock. "So what happened yesterday?" She eyed her daughter suspiciously over the steaming rim of her coffee mug. Must have been some night, she considered as she studied the light scrape near Dana's ear and her mangled, broken fingernails.  
  
Scully shook her head from side to side, shrugged her shoulders then looked up into the empathy shinning in her mother's eyes. "It's not just one thing. It's everything. I guess that we are growing apart. I mean, that happens sometimes, right?" The forcefulness had left her voice. She looked young and a little lost. It was a Dana that Maggie hadn't seen in years. Maggie nodded. Dana continued. "At first, I thought that he was just trying to keep me from getting into danger; you know, leaving me behind and taking all of the risks." Scully paused for perspective. "After Antarctica, I told him that I accepted the risks and that it was *my* choice to stay on the X-files. Well, that was months ago, and it seems as though he is drawing further away from me every day." A pang of grief penetrated Scully's heart, sending its icy needles and frozen detachment ricocheting throughout her body at the prospect of losing her best friend.  
  
"Have you talked to him about how you feel?" Margaret Scully wanted to take Dana's hand in hers to comfort, but from the look on her daughter's face, she knew that doing so might cause Dana to crumble before her into tears. Scully's aren't supposed to cry, especially not in public.  
  
"I tried." Scully inhaled deeply and let out the breath slowly so as not to cause an audible shudder. "Yesterday morning, I reminded him that he is not my keeper and that I am as capable of doing the work as he. I asked him why he was acting this way after all of this time. He didn't answer. He looked," Scully paused, looking intently at her index finger as it circled the edge of her cup. "I don't know, sad I guess, like he knew something terrible but couldn't tell me what it was."  
  
"Did you ask?"  
  
"Well, I was going to until our boss walked in and handed us a case. My hand was on Mulder's cheek." Scully colored ever so slightly then twisted her lips to one side in a small, lop-sided grin.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Nothing like that Mom," Scully laughed satirically, "but it had to have looked bad. We were handed an assignment for a nighttime stake out. Skinner left, and the teasing started. It was wonderful." Light from heaven, Scully thought remembering the exchange. "We went on the assignment and had a great time."  
  
Maggie raised her brows and, knowing that she really shouldn't ask, posed, "So what is your idea of a good time?"  
  
Scully's face brightened and she smirked. "Well, last night involved a fake ghost, a cat, two rats, some gun crates, fishing in the sleet, falling though a trap door, then escaping into the heavy fog. You know, the usual."  
  
Maggie chuckled too, incredulously. She hated that Dana's high-risk job often placed her in dangerous scenarios, but she admired her daughter's sense of duty and bravery. Dana had always been her father's daughter, but their mutual stubbornness had created friction, leaving Dana to wonder if he had ever really approved of her choices. Bill had loved his little Starbuck. Maggie only wished that Bill and Dana could have made more of an effort to tear down the walls between them before it had been too late. She prayed that Dana wouldn't make that same mistake with Fox. "Okay, so you two kids had fun." She found herself unable to stifle a wisp of sarcasm. "What went wrong?"  
  
Scully had drained the last of her coffee and now busied herself by scratching patterns into the Styrofoam with what was left of her nails. "We were having a *real* discussion on the long trip home. It usually takes an act of congress and a two-by-four to get him to quit talking shop for more than five minutes." Placing the graffitied, former cup on the marble table top, "I asked him when he wanted to meet me tonight, and he said that he may or may not be attending, *and* that I could fill in our boss on last night's case myself if he didn't show up!"  
  
Margaret Scully had more than an inkling about the "real story" here but held her silence as Dana proceeded to rave awhile longer.  
  
"We always go to these annoying affairs together. We sit in the back and bolt after we've put in an acceptable appearance."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why what?"  
  
"Why bolt?"  
  
"That's just it Mom, we are expected to attend, but it usually works out better if Mulder isn't subjected to an entire evening of jabs. And, aside from Mulder, the only people who haven't snubbed me--given our field of expertise--are either in the forensics lab or in housekeeping." Scully straightened her spine and her visage took on an air of self-righteousness. "I have never thrown him to the wolves, and all of a sudden, he's too good to escort me to a lousy banquet for an hour!"  
  
"Anything else?" Maggie squeezed Scully's hand to calm her.  
  
"Yeah, actually, this morning he skipped out on me again, leaving me with a post-it of jobs for me to complete in his absence. Do I look like a secretary to you?"  
  
Maggie looked at Dana's drab outfit and almost answered "yes". Instead, she sought to clarify a few points of contention. "So, you said that this change began after Antarctica?" Scully nodded. "Did you two.."  
  
"No Mom! You have a one tracked mind lately."  
  
"I was going to say 'kiss'."  
  
"Oh," Scully looked down at the table, "Sorry." "Um," Should I tell her? she wondered then reluctantly gave in. "I think that we might have. I mean, we almost did, but then I was stung and the viral effects began instantaneously. Heat of the moment, I think. But that shouldn't make him back out of this stupid function now."  
  
Scully's mom finished her drink and tossed it into the can behind her. So, Fox got scared, backed off, probably convinced himself that it was for Dana's own good rather than his own misguided sense of self- preservation. Dana feels stood up and hurt, thought Maggie incredulously. She could hardly believe that her brainy daughter and Fox could have ever possibly gotten everything this screwed up. Baffled, she groaned internally thinking that for psychological profilers and investigators, they seemed about as dumb as a box of rocks sometimes. There was just one piece of the puzzle missing. "If you aren't going, then why did you want to go shopping for a dress?"  
  
"Who says I'm not going?" Scully challenged. "If Mulder can't be bothered, fine."  
  
"You're going stag?"  
  
"Of course not, whether he thinks so or not, I *do* have options." Scully was almost comically defiant in her declaration. "I ran into a nice man this morning. Dr. Mike Adams, new in town, chemical forensics contractor. Tall, attractive, and very friendly." She reflected with relief that there was nothing brooding or mysterious about this guy.  
  
Maggie started to tell Dana what she was thinking. You're playing with fire, and you don't even know it, but held her tongue. "What happens if Fox shows up?" Maggie tried to sound more casual than accusatory.  
  
"He will. He always does; curiosity or fear of bureaucratic reproach, I guess." Scully swept the biscotti crumbs into her palm before rising and depositing them into the trash bin. She dusted off her hands as if she wouldn't give a hoot about how Mulder would feel if he saw her with a date. Turn about is fair play and all that. Not my concern, she lied to herself. It was getting to be a habit.  
  
Maggie started to discourage Dana from trying to prove to herself and to Fox that she didn't need him. She suspected that Fox was busy doing the same. Dana had suffered hurt pride and rejection and seemed to be on a mission to show up Fox. Maggie looked at Dana's tense shoulders and doubted that her beautiful, intelligent girl had the slightest clue as to the forces driving her today.  
  
"Well then," Maggie collected her purse and stood, "let's go find a dress that *Mike* will find irresistible." Maggie followed Dana out of the coffee house, a knowing grin splashed across her delicate features.  
  
*****  
  
Scully balanced a shopping bag, a dress bag, her purse, and her briefcase between her knee and the front door to her apartment. She shoved at the humidity-swollen door until it finally gave way. The sudden absence of resistance sent her careening through the doorway, packages tumbling to the floor. She groped for the light switch, the cloudy day making it much darker outside than usual. The smaller parcels were left strewn about the floor. She snagged the dress hanger with the crook of her finger then hoisted the garment bag to the robe hook on the back of the bedroom door.  
  
The garment bag was unzipped until it fell away. The object of the day's hunt sparkled in the soft light from the living room. She lifted the hem between her forefinger and thumb and marveled at its color, and how it reminded her of a Serrott painting. An almost lavender blue satin was covered by an impossibly thin layer of black mesh creating a luminescent blue that defied the imagination's attempt to catalog its shade with and exact name. It reminded Scully of a color taken from the calm depths of the ocean on a clear summer's day. Beads adorned the top layer here and there with an abstract pattern that resembled falling leaves. The bodice held a covering of intricately woven beads. And the style...Well, Scully was a little afraid to think about the style other than in terms of, What was I thinking? and How did I get talked into this? I should have known better than to trust the opinion of the same woman who gave me the go-ahead for the boofy, peach thing in high school. Scully smiled at the memory then shivered.  
  
She felt chilled to the bone after a brutally cold day without the benefit of a heavy coat. As she crossed her bedroom towards the bath, she kicked off her shoes, unfastened her bra, and took out her earrings with the kind of simultaneous dexterity and speed that Houdini himself would have envied. Free, she thought. Men could complain all that they wanted to about how restrictive it felt to wear a necktie, but as far as she was concerned, there was no such thing as an "eighteen hour bra" or a "comfort strap". Scully pealed off her damp suit, leaving it in a ball on the tile floor as it was too wet and wrinkled just to hang it up for another day. Having deposited the rest of her clothing onto the stack, she searched for the cheap shower cap she'd collected at some hotel a thousand years ago. She didn't want to mess up her hair.  
  
Her mother had insisted on the full treatment--hair, nails, and makeup at a local salon. Scully tried repeatedly to back out of something so frivolous; a waste of money. She then recalled her mother's words from earlier that day, the honesty of them and threw in the towel. Ceasing her search for the hidden shower cap, she stood and looked at herself in the mirror, briefly surprised to see the evening make-up. It was different from her usual, but expertly done. Scully found the new look similar to that which you would expect to see in a musical from the Thirties. Glamorous rather than tacky as she had feared would be the case when she had first seen the stylist's palette and array of cosmetics.  
  
Why not? she conceded. Nothing else about this evening promises to be out of the ordinary. She then came to the decision that the quick shower and case report could wait. She sat on the edge of her claw foot tub and turned the taps. Water rushed down the porcelain gully and mingled with the sweet lavender scented body wash being poured in slowly from a glass vial. Soon, the bubbles began to foam, tickling the tub as they rose.  
  
As the bath drew, Scully walked hurriedly through the apartment, hoping that her blinds were down. She left the kitchen with a small glass of red wine and paused beside her stereo, searching her CD rack for the perfect music for her mood. She flipped the disk from its case and fed it into the player. She stopped to program her favorite tracks and hit the play button. The luxuriating saxophone melody from her "Blade Runner" CD followed her as she made her way back to the tub. She placed the wine on the bath tray, and she slid into the warm water, careful not to destroy her upsweep. The damp and the cold were washed away. Tension from her body gathered helplessly into the bubbles that caressed her skin and then vanished as each successive bubble burst into the lavender scented steam. Scully allowed her head to lull back over the lip of the tub and reflected on her day:  
  
Scully approached the dressing room with another armful of dresses. Margaret Scully rubbed her temples as she looked through her daughter's selections. "Dana," Maggie began exasperatedly, "this is the third store and at least the twentieth dress that you've tried on, right?" Scully agreed. "They are all black. That is all I ever see you in anymore. Black."  
  
  
  
"So?" Scully adopted a defensive stance.  
  
  
  
"So, did Johnny Cash have a yard sale?"  
  
  
  
Scully's mouth twisted to one side. "Mom, I don't always wear black."  
  
  
  
Maggie fingered the lapel of Scully's suit jacket and raised a questioning brow.  
  
  
  
"It's not black. It's charcoal."  
  
  
  
"Same difference," Maggie wasn't going to accomplish anything at this pace and changed tactics. She took the plain black dresses from Dana's arms and hooked them on a near-by rack. She then draped an arm over Dana's shoulders and steered her to a large mirror. Then, in a quiet, maternal tone, asked her daughter, "What do you see?" Maggie pointed at the reflection.  
  
  
  
"You. Me. Why?" Scully had way too much to accomplish today than to play Magic Mirror with her mother.  
  
  
  
"Do you want to know what I see?"  
  
  
  
Do I have a choice? Scully thought impatiently.  
  
  
  
Maggie persisted. "I see an attractive woman," Maggie stood in front of Dana and rested a palm on her shoulder, "But I don't believe that is what you want to see when you look at yourself, is it?" Maggie's appraisal stung having hit the mark.  
  
  
  
Scully looked at herself through her mother's eyes for a few seconds and didn't like what she saw. She wondered when it was that she had developed such a hardened aspect and look of defeat. Her modern layered bob cut and sparse make-up said "professional" but not much else. She found herself missing her softer appearance from just a few years ago. When did I change so much? Scully mulled while studying her reflection. She started to protest, laugh it off as too much "Oprah" viewing on her mother's behalf, and then guide them both back to safer ground. Unfortunately, she found herself unable to do so. However, Scully knew that her mother would never have been so blunt if she hadn't felt as though there was a problem that needed to be addressed.  
  
  
  
Maggie moved away from the mirror and stood behind Scully. She smoothed Scully's hair with her hand, a gesture of pure parental compassion. "Baby, I don't want to upset you, and I do realize that you have been through a tremendous amount over the past couple of years, but lately, it seems to me as though you are intentionally hiding the fact that you are a good-looking, available girl."  
  
  
  
Scully smiled at her mother's description of her as a "girl" thinking, Everything's relative.  
  
  
  
"All I'm saying is that you may want to examine why you seem to be afraid of being perceived as womanly, and do something about it." Her mother embraced her from behind and placed a kiss on the side of Dana's head.  
  
  
  
Scully understood her mother's intentions. You'd have to have been brain dead to have missed the meaning. Scully made a mental note to get her car's oil changed tomorrow and to indulge in a good five to ten minutes of futile introspection concerning her femininity and its role in her professional and nonprofessional life. For the moment however, she decided to follow the path of least resistance and indulge her Mother. "Good point doctor, but I see that my hour is up. Now, if you don't mind," Scully turned on her thousand watt smile for her mother, "We have only six and a half hours to find the perfect, non-black, sexy as hell dress. I leave it in your capable hands." Scully curtsied deeply causing a light bout of giggling between them.  
  
  
  
Her mother straightened up first, "Oh, we only have four hours actually. You're due at my salon at three o'clock. My treat. Andre' loves to do makeovers."  
  
  
  
Dana screwed her expression then attempted to keep a straight face, "Your beautician is actually named Andre'?" Battle over, she was moving towards hysterics and taking Maggie with her.  
  
  
  
Maggie tried repeatedly to answer before finally managing to suppress her laughter long enough to add, "Aren't they all?" The laughter erupted again drawing stares from store employees and customers alike. Margaret and Dana couldn't have cared less as they half staggered through the department store and into a lovely day.  
  
  
  
Scully floated back to the present and opened her eyes. The bubbles were a memory. She really, really, really didn't want to get up. Scully surmised that her energy must have gone down the drain. How wonderful it had been to drift along in a luxurious bubble bath while listening to the perfect music. Wait, why isn't the music playing? she thought, already knowing the answer as the panic began to take hold. Scully pushed herself up to see the crystal clock near the sink basin. Oh no! The clock read six-fifteen in the evening and the banquet began at seven, seven-thirty to be fashionably late. Scully stepped out of the tub and grabbed for a thick towel with her now pruney fingers. She dried herself quickly and ran to the other end of her apartment for the bags that contained the new shoes and hosiery that her mother had insisted upon.  
  
She had just started her other leg into the silky hose when the phone rang, sending her scrambling across her bed to catch the receiver by the third ring. This better be good Mulder, she thought as she answered with an extremely assertive, "Scully."  
  
There was a long silence followed by a familiar apologetic voice. "Uh, hi. It's Mike--from the garage. Did I catch you at a bad time?"  
  
At least this one asks, she stored the information away for some future application. "No, it's fine. What's up?"  
  
He paused. "Gosh, I hate to do this but..." Scully prepared for the brush off. "our test system crashed this afternoon. I'm all ready to go, but my replacement won't be here for another forty-five minutes or so. Um, any chance that I could just meet you there between seven and seven-thirty?  
  
Scully was surprised that she hadn't been ditched for a change. She was even more surprised to be going out with a man who had the capacity to feel bad about inconveniencing her and who actually grasped the concept of punctuality. "That's fine. I'm running late too."  
  
"Great!" Mike sounded a little too enthused. "I mean, I'm glad that you're okay with meeting me later instead of on time, and..." Realizing he was chattering on inanely, he broke with, "Shoot. Let me hang up and try this again."  
  
Scully smiled into the receiver, "That's not necessary unless we don't plan to show up until after midnight."  
  
Mike smiled back. "See you there. Oh, and Dana," he paused. "I'll be the one in the tuxedo."  
  
Scully hung up the phone, still grinning from the exchange. She wished that she eagerly anticipated spending an evening in Mike's company. In any case, she scolded herself, he seems to be looking forward to seeing you. So, stop being a baby and get into that evening dress, soldier! Scully sometimes felt as though she might have the ability to channel her father's spirit, but always at the weirdest times. Still, an order was an order.  
  
Ten minutes later, Scully tugged the zipper up her side. "I'm going to kill her for this!" Scully's mother had brought out a measuring tape in the dressing room and took a full set of measurements from ankle to neckline for the supposed sake of "hemming the length just a touch." Her mother then left for two hours while Scully succumbed to the mastery of Andre'--Professional Stylist and Cosmetics Consultant. She vaguely recalled her mom commenting on what a shame it was that in order to accommodate Scully's curvy hips, the waist and the length looked out of proportion. Scully disagreed, feeling more comfortable with the slack fabric. It never occurred to her that her mother had planned to take in the waist and narrow the skirt for an extremely tailored effect. Scully turned toward the mirror and gasped. "Oh God, I can't go like this. I just can't."  
  
She looked at the bedside clock and cringed. Well, she consoled, at least the hair and make-up still look good--a miracle in today's climate. She darted to her closet and retrieved her long black suit as a hand fumbled blindly for her zipper. She stopped at the long, oval mirror near the closet and held the suit to her chest. She had begun to rummage in her jewelry box for her grandmother's pearls when she remembered Mulder's prediction concerning her apparel for the evening and changed her mind. On second thought, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She tossed the suit onto her bed and glanced back at her dangerously curvaceous reflection and declared, "Cabinboy, my ass!"  
  
She picked up her evening bag and reached for the light switch when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. There on her vanity stand, sat the cobalt blue atomizer of perfume that she had purchased several years earlier, but had never used. Giving into impulse, she depressed the bulb and released a fine spritz of scented air caught on a soft, white patch of wrist then carried to the back of her neck lending its faint fragrance to her own. With that, she clutched her bag and headed for the door. She had no intention of keeping Dr. Adams waiting.  
  
*****  
  
Mulder stood on the staircase landing that overlooked the entranceway to the Grand Ballroom at the Excelsior Hotel. From his vantage point, he would be able to see her when she came through the heavy oak and stained glassed doors and into the receiving hall. As expected, the government had gone all out. In addition to the Washington DC based federal Agents, the ball also hosted several senators, various other high-ranking officials, and, as lovely as ever, Janet Reno. Our tax dollars at work, Mulder thought derisively as he cast his eyes upon the numerous floral displays, the ornately decorated receiving table, and the open bar. He gave a snort of disapproval at the possibility of seeing the Attorney General in an evening gown, then gave silent thanks for the open bar.  
  
Mulder dug his wing-tipped toe into the plush burgundy carpet and attempted to recall what in the hell had possessed him to show up. He hadn't planned to come. He had breezed into the office around four-thirty that afternoon and was surprised to find it abandoned. She had been there, and judging from the crumpled post-it on his desk, she hadn't appreciated his--as she called it--"ditching" her yet again.  
  
He had done it for her own good. He knew that, had he come in that morning and worked along side of her all day, he wouldn't have been able to resist escorting her this evening. She had an endearing way of punching holes in all of his excuses. He had set the wheels in motion last night after yesterday's duplicitous misadventure. This pattern of disentangling himself from her life only to selfishly pull her closer again was crueler to her than it had to be. But oh God, the hurt in her eyes, Mulder's mind's eye focused on her concerned face in the office two days ago, and then the confusion and betrayal clouding her eyes last night as she had exited his car. So, he had come into the office at six in the morning, left his note, and fled the scene. If I have to a bastard in order to protect her, then that is exactly what I am prepared to do, he swore. It had weighed him down like a millstone all day.  
  
He had brought the projector and one of the empty crates over to the Lone Gunmen that afternoon to see if they could turn up any clues as to the identities of whomever had set Scully and him up. Forensics was Scully's department, but he had chosen to circumvent her expertise for the time being. Remembering the encounter, Mulder still couldn't quite believe how irate the guys had become:  
  
Frohike, self proclaimed president of the "Dana Scully: Hottest Babe in DC" fan club, asked about the upcoming dance and practically begged to be granted information after the engagement about what she had worn and any other tidbits to add to his fantasy file. Byers and Langly groaned at his request, thinking that their friend was being hopelessly pathetic. Mulder silenced the speculation and the ensuing bickering by announcing that he would not be in attendance. Mulder had not been prepared for the onslaught of angry words hurled in his direction.  
  
  
  
Byers and Langly shook their heads and swore under their breaths while Frohike launched the main offensive. "You are such an asshole, Mulder!" Frohike's small frame seemed to inflate with aggression as he paced in front of Mulder.  
  
  
  
"Hey! What the he..." Mulder began but was instantly cut off.  
  
  
  
"Does she have another date?" Frohike tapped his foot.  
  
  
  
Mulder began to perspire. "How the hell should I know?" Mulder stepped back nearly knocking over Langly's soldering iron. The cross examination continued.  
  
  
  
"Has she been dating anyone else?"  
  
  
  
"Nooo." Mulder crossed his arms over his chest. "I mean, she isn't dating *anyone*."  
  
  
  
Langly and Byers exchanged a look and stepped out of Frohike's way. "When did you dump her?"  
  
  
  
Mulder had heard enough out of this gaggle of geeks for one day. "I didn't dump her. You guys are nuts!"  
  
  
  
Frohike stepped into Mulder's personal space; toe-to-toe, nose to sternum. "So, she never counted on being escorted by you?"  
  
  
  
Mulder squirmed, "Well...I guess..." Mulder looked at his shoes and mumbled, "Last night". He started to explain his motivation for doing so, but one look at Frohike and the guys, told him to save his breath. Instead, he changed strategies, "What is it to you guys, anyway?"  
  
  
  
"What's it to us?" Frohike nodded to his buddies, and Byers explained.  
  
  
  
"She's one of us now. Okay, maybe not exactly like us, but she has had to contend with those who would enslave the truth, risking her life to shed light onto the dark and evil forces mired within our government and beyond. Regardless of her intentions and her skepticism, we are comrades in arms."  
  
  
  
Langly chimed in, "She defended you. Heck, she even defended *us*. Nobody has ever done that before. That can't win her any popularity contests at the Bureau. She deserves better than to be dumped less than twenty-four hours before tonight's little soiree." Langly, despite his black rimmed, nerd glasses and his living-in-the- basement-of-his-parents-home-till-death kind of hair, looked menacing enough to alert Mulder into subconsciously taking inventory of his surroundings, possible opponents and the location of his weapon. He'd never seen the guys this worked up before.  
  
  
  
Man, you'd think I shot her dog or something! Mulder thought defensively then remembered that he was somewhat responsible for the death of her little rat-dog years ago and that he, obsessed with his investigation as usual, blew off Scully's grief and anger. Again. Maybe these misfits have a point, he conceded.  
  
  
  
Frohike approached the bench with his final arguments, "Besides, you dufus, I'd give my left nut for the privilege of taking her out."  
  
  
  
Mulder just stood dumbstruck for a moment. Since when had Scully been elevated to the status of Goddess of the Nerds? he asked himself. He wasn't about to let the Scarecrow, the Lion, and the Tin Man here see how guilty he really felt for "dumping" Scully. "Whatever." Mulder picked up his coat to leave. "Thanks for the pep talk guys. Call me if you find any usable evidence," he tossed over his shoulder. "I've got work to do." With that, he was gone, leaving the Gunmen to curse him through the door."  
  
  
  
"Butthead."  
  
  
  
"Moron."  
  
  
  
"Jerk."  
  
Back in the office, Mulder had pictured poor Scully in her black suit alone at a banquet table. Mulder felt crummy about leaving his friend to fend for herself in such hostile surroundings. However, truth be known, that wasn't why he had shown up--in a white dinner jacket and a black tie-- no less.  
  
He had been compelled to attend, unable to stay away. Hello. My name is Mulder, and I am a Scully addict. It's been eighteen hours since my last fix. Mulder thought bitterly. He yearned for the light and energy that she emitted from her impassioned soul. Her half grins, her soft sighs, even the way she rolled her eyes at his outlandish statements elicited a warm rush through his body. Mulder figured that a heroin junkie had a better chance of shaking a craving than he did. Tonight is it. Just one last taste, and I'll quit tomorrow, he told himself sternly. I'll walk away, and never look back.  
  
A hand on Mulder's shoulder caused him to jump. "Agent Mulder," Skinner began. "I wasn't sure that you would be gracing us with your presence this evening."  
  
"Wouldn't miss it, Sir." Mulder countered with insincere eagerness. Having discovered no tangible leads during the day's search, Mulder decided to engage the Assistant Director in conversation. Mulder was an expert at getting Skinner to not answer questions. The way Mulder figured it, the more evasive Skinner became, the more likely it was that he was hiding involvement by himself or an immediate supervisor. "Interesting case last night..."  
  
Skinner looked down upon the gathering crowd below. The din of collective chatter slowly overpowered the classical mood music being piped into the room. Skinner changed the subject. "Where's Agent Scully?"  
  
Good Question, he admitted. "I haven't seen her today. I had assumed that she would be here by now." Mulder turned the helm of conversation over to Skinner.  
  
Skinner's jaw quirked at Mulder's "assumption". "Agent Scully looked a bit out of sorts this morning." Skinner studied Mulder's furrowed brow and continued. "She handed in your budget before she left this morning." Skinner enjoyed making Mulder uncomfortable for a change. "I mean, don't misunderstand, the two of you have enough combined paid time off in reserve to be gone through the New Year. It just seemed strange to me that she took a day with no prior notice given." Mulder fidgeted beside Skinner, searching for a sunflower seed in his pocket. "Everything all right?"  
  
"Fine, Sir." Mulder felt tension beginning to climb up his spine and fought it. He shrugged and rolled his shoulders forward slightly; the casual posture hopefully masking the rising stress within. He temporarily forgot about his quest for information related to last night's hoax. "Did she happen to mention why she had to leave suddenly?"  
  
Skinner rocked back on his heals then responded, "Nope." Skinner peered at Mulder's darkening visage. "I thought that you might know." Skinner's inference hung heavy in the air around them.  
  
Mulder, with nothing to add, resumed his vigil. Another large group of partygoers poured into the room then branched off into smaller aggregates as they advanced to the reception table before disappearing through the large oak doors at the far end of the hall. He pivoted back around to scan the next group when something caught his eye. Boy did it ever catch his eye.  
  
Mulder couldn't take his eyes off of the sexiest back he'd ever seen. The vision at the bottom of the stairs wore an elegant, blue gown. The dress was suspended from criss-crossing straps high upon her shoulders, leaving the rest of the back open. Soft folds of material rested low on her spine; high enough to avoid scandal, low enough to tempt the imagination. Mulder's mouth began to water in pure Pavlovian response. His appreciative eyes then noticed something familiar.  
  
The sensuous curve of her hip, the narrow taper of her waist, and the pale satin of her skin, were frequent visitors to Mulder's dreams. He had approximately 258 fantasies involving his hands sliding along hips such as the ones before him. Sometimes, he would be sitting at his desk, pretending to work, all the while daydreaming of what it would be like to run his fingers down Scully's... WHAT?? Mulder jerked his eyes upwards to the porcelain neck and upswept auburn tresses of his partner.  
  
Scully felt a shiver down her spine and a force from behind willing her to turn around. Mulder, she knew without looking just as she always sensed his presence whenever he was near--not that she would ever admit to something so unscientific. She turned slowly and lifted her glance to the top of the steps. Adrenaline jolted her heart making her pulse quicken when she met Mulder's eyes. For a moment, or perhaps for forever, she stared at his handsome form. He stared back.  
  
Only then did Mulder register the full impact of the moment. There was nothing on Earth--or anywhere else most likely--that could come close to being as beautiful as she. Her gray-blue eyes sparkled like the beaded bodice of her gown. No, he amended, like starlight. Intellectually, Mulder knew that he should do something, say something. He grappled for mastery over his visceral self. Before he had an opportunity to check his words, he uttered one simple response, "Oh. My...."  
  
"God." Skinner finished from behind surprising Mulder.  
  
Mulder's panic paralysis faded when he realized that the Assistant Director was making his way down the stairs to greet Scully. Skinner reached the bottom of the steps and proceeded to shock her by saying something very un-Skinnerish, "Agent Scully, at the risk of being slapped with a sexual harassment suit, may I say that you look absolutely stunning tonight?" Never leaving her gaze, Skinner bent forward and placed a kiss on the back of her hand to punctuate his compliment.  
  
Scully, seasoned agent, medical doctor, and independent woman was mildly horrified having realized that she might be blushing in front of her boss. Always quick to recover, she smiled demurely and answered, "Why yes you may, kind Sir."  
  
Skinner flashed her his full grin briefly, leaving Scully to marvel at how she had come to regard him as an authority figure and ally, but *never* really as a man, until now anyway. The discovery was roughly 62% fascinating and 38% unsettling. Still, there was nothing inappropriate about their relationship. The compliment was accepted as it had been intended; a friendly gesture and nothing more.  
  
Mulder maneuvered himself next to her, and awaited his turn at the kissing booth. He tried in vain to formulate a suave hello or the expected sexual entendre. Words had always been Mulder's playthings, his command of language impressive. He opened his mouth to address hands down, the finest woman he had ever laid his eyes on (including the ones who had been airbrushed to perfection, lying heaped on and around his magazine rack at home). Blank. Blank. Blank. Mulder hadn't been at such a loss for words since he'd been caught red-handed with a tree lizard poised over Susie Patterson's dress at the eighth grade dance. Same feeling. Different intent. He finally closed the distance between them and managed to deliver a very sophisticated and worldly, "Uh, hi," when someone practically knocked him over.  
  
"Gosh, um, Sorry 'bout that. I wasn't watching where I was going," said a tall tuxedo clad man as he passed Mulder and leaned in towards Scully.  
  
Scully offered her cheek to Mike's quick kiss and quipped, "Are you ever watching where you are going?"  
  
Mulder could have sworn that he heard the "Twilight Zone" theme start up. Who is this guy and why is he kissing *my* partner?  
  
While Mulder remained briefly dazed, Mike wasted no time in beating him to the punch. "Wow," Mike offered while appraising Scully from head to toe and back again lingering a little too long on the tantalizing flash of thigh exposed thanks to the slit up the side of her dress that was cut a little too high for Mulder's comfort. "Wow," he repeated. Mulder gave the guy one more second to stop ogling his partner before things turned violent.  
  
Scully, unaccustomed to this degree of male attention, felt the heat creeping into her cheeks again. "Thank you." Mulder edged closer and cleared his throat. "Oh," Scully stammered, "Sorry. Mike, this is my partner Fox Mulder. Mulder, this is Mike Adams. He is in chemical analysis." Scully held her breath for a moment as the two men shook hands. They were outwardly polite, but their stance reminded Scully of two bucks about to lock horns in a battle for their territory. And I'm the territory, an inner voice scolded. Mom warned you, but no-oo... Scully bit back, Oh shut up and help me out here, will ya?  
  
Skinner came to her rescue, "I think they're about to start serving. We should probably go in."  
  
***End of Part 1/2 of It's Easier to Believe by Rachiraptor*** 


	2. It's Easier to Believe: part 2/2

It's Easier to Believe: Part 2/2 by Rachiraptor  
  
Category: Story, Mulder/ Scully Romance, Humor  
  
Rated: "R" for language and adult situations-mostly "PG-13"  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them…yadda-yadda…  
  
Summary: As the targets of a new conspiracy, Mulder and Scully must admit their feelings for one another before time runs out.  
  
All comments to: Rachiraptor@yahoo.com  
  
Jacobs, Ross, and McKinze occupied a table along the parquet aisle leading to the dance floor and awards table. They had arrived early and had been taking full advantage of the open bar. The trio had been recounting embellished tales of their own heroism; congratulating themselves for their own deeds. Jacobs, who faced the entrance, stopped short in the middle of a joke involving a naked blond, a poodle, and a large salami. He craned his neck, squinted ahead and smiled.  
  
"Finish the joke man." Ross demanded in his deep, ex-Marine voice.  
  
Jacobs motioned to the door, a cocky grin plastered across his features.  
  
"What?" the others asked impatiently.  
  
Jacobs sat back in his seat and folded his hands behind his head. "Roll up your trousers, men."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Jacobs continued in a poorly done British accent, "Iceberg! Right ahead! And she's headed for a melt down."  
  
McKinze was momentarily confused, "Janet Reno?"  
  
"Better," came Jacob's oily reply as he extended an index finger towards the doors.  
  
McKinze and Ross swiveled around to behold the spectacle for themselves. "Holy Shit!" McKinze exclaimed.  
  
"Man, I've seen everything now," mumbled Ross.  
  
Jacobs, self satisfied, purred, "Pay-up gentlemen." He curled his fingers in a hasty gesture for the cash.  
  
"Proves nothing," argued Ross.  
  
Jacobs, not about to be talked out of his money, contended, "What do you need, a neon sign?"  
  
McKinze quietly observed the scene in question. "I hate to break it to you guys, but I'm not sure that she's here with Mulder." McKinze raised a challenging glance to his compadres. "Looks to me boys like all prior bets are off. We appear to have another contender in the arena."  
  
Ross and Jacobs watched as Agent Scully was accompanied to a table near the back of the room by a tall, attractive man with dark hair and fashionable glasses. The mystery man pulled her chair out for her then seated himself at her side. AD Skinner broke away from Mulder once they were inside, leaving Mulder hesitant and at a total loss of how to proceed.  
  
Ross looked positively triumphant. "Are we agreed?"  
  
The others nodded. Jacobs pulled a small note pad out of his pocket. A pen materialized in his hand. "Let the best man win."  
  
*****  
  
The tables had filled,as the time was now ten until eight. Mulder had two choices. He could sit with Scully and her "date", or he could sit with some of the more obnoxious guys from upstairs; really not much of a choice. If he sat with the rat pack, he knew that he'd be trying to slit his wrists with a butter knife within minutes. After one last resolute look at the empty chair at Scully's table, he stepped over and asked if the seat was taken.  
  
Mike gestured to the empty chair, "Please join us, Fox."  
  
Scully cringed then whispered into Mike's ear.  
  
"Sorry. Mulder."  
  
Mulder sat down in the chair next to Mike. So much for boy-girl-boy- girl, he thought resentfully. Mike sat with his arm draped around the back of Scully's chair. Mulder wanted to hack *it* off with a butter knife. This is what you wanted, Mulder's mind reprimanded the aggressive impulses that surged through his body. As the waiter delivered dinner rolls and salad, Mulder had an opportunity to size up the man seated to his left. Mike was being irritatingly polite to Scully, offering her this and that as they settled into the ritual of dinner. He was friendly, damn friendly, too damn friendly. Mulder half expected him to solicit life insurance over dessert. Mulder was unaware of conversational content exchanged between Scully and this, this guy. Mulder didn't trust Mike. His gut instinct told him that something was wrong here. This stranger was after something. It was Mulder's job to find out what that something was.  
  
"So, what department did you say you were from?" Mulder interrupted.  
  
Scully shot him a look of warning.  
  
Mike rolled with it, "Microforensics and chemical analysis."  
  
"I don't remember seeing you around before."  
  
Mike supplied a prompt and concise reply. "I'm new."  
  
Scully felt as though she were witnessing a tennis match taking place in the middle of the Spanish inquisition.  
  
"From?" Mulder leaned into Mike's space.  
  
"Texas by way of Michigan."  
  
"And you are under?" Mulder cross-examined.  
  
Scully tried to kick Mulder under the table, but her petite leg struck Mike's lanky leg instead.  
  
"Ow."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
Mike supplied Mulder with, "I'm here to upgrade several of the forensics labs." Mike, tired of Mulder's inquest, tried to attend to his date. "Dana, do you work out of the labs here or at Quantico?"  
  
Scully mentally thanked Mike for the change of subject, as she had been growing increasingly perturbed by Mulder's grilling of her date.  
  
Scully, not Dana, you creep. *My* Scully, thought Mulder as he made an effort to bury his foul mood, portraying the quintessence of cool.  
  
Scully gifted Mike with her full attention. "Both actually, and everywhere else it seems." Mike didn't quite follow, so she expanded her exposition. "We are frequently in remote areas on assignment and often have to make do with whatever is available."  
  
Mike seemed genuinely interested, "Give me an example."  
  
Scully leaned forward to include Mulder in the discourse. "An example. Hmm. Well, we discovered a prehistoric parasitic worm that caused homicidal tendencies in its host while we were trapped in an arctic research outpost." Mikes eyes grew larger in response to her statement.  
  
Mulder chimed in, "That was nothing. She pieced together the remains of over fifty people in a small southern town and uncovered a cannibalistic cult." Mulder perked up and continued enthusiastically, "Once, we were exposed to a lethal agent that caused rapid aging. We were adrift on a ship on the North Sea. I was ready to attribute our condition to some type of Bermuda Triangle like phenomenon, but Scully's investigation, notes, and treatment recommendations were used to reverse the condition." Mulder's eyes shone with admiration. "I couldn't begin to count the number of times that her methodology and expertise saved our lives and the lives of many others."  
  
Scully couldn't believe her ears. Does he mean what he is saying, she dared to hope, or is he just marking his territory? In that hallway, before the bee, he had told her that her work and her support of him mattered . She had been tempted to believe him, but in the months that had followed, she had come to the conclusion that Mulder only considered her to be a traveling companion, a secretary, a piece of lab equipment, and nothing more. Sure, he accepted her presence and her ability to take care of the grunt work, but sing her praises so convincingly to a total stranger? His approval meant so much to her. She needed to receive some kind of validation that she and the choices she had made in her life mattered. Mulder's words wrapped around her like a warm blanket in a cold world. We really need to work on our communication, thought Scully as Mulder stopped just long enough to take a breath.  
  
Ten minutes later, Mulder was forced to desist with his accolades. Mike appeared to be somewhat relieved. Scully smiled knowingly at Mike's reaction. She was accustomed to Mulder's pressured speech and his bullet train of thought speeding down the axonial expressways of his mind. To a stranger however, Mulder's explosions of dialog were most likely to be perceived as quirky at best, at worst, as a sign that he needed to up the dose of his lithium or something. Scully knew the truth. Mulder's mind worked so much more quickly than the average person's. She suspected that his insomnia was also due in part to the rapidly flashing images collected by his eidetic memory that refused to power down even long after his eyes had closed.  
  
Scully now found herself embroiled in one heck of an awkward situation. She took her complaints to the party responsible for this scenario, Could have listened to Mom, but no-ooo. Scully pictured herself on an ante-bellum plantation in a hoop skirt, surrounded by gentlemen callers. The mental picture was hilarious, to say the least. God, I miss Tara. She thought then stifled a giggle as she turned her attention back to the boys.  
  
Mulder turned to face Scully, a devilish smile on his face.  
  
Scully recognized the expression and whispered, "What?"  
  
His eyes blazed a trail across the room and locked onto a certain congressman and his bodaciously built wife who was at least forty years his junior. Scully nonchalantly twisted her head to look then returned to meet Mulder's gaze. Mulder dipped his head and leaned across Mike. Scully did the same, expecting to receive a hushed acknowledgment about the members of the consortium or an alien presence nearby. He whispered into her ear and they split apart laughing. Scully swatted his arm in mock punishment then added, "No, I don't think that is what they mean by a 'congressional probe'".  
  
The two continued to snicker until it dawned on Scully that she had just behaved very rudely to her date. Truth be told, for a moment, she had forgotten that she even had a date. Scully filled Mike in on the joke and received only a tight smile in response. After a long pregnant pause, Mike vied for Scully's attention with a joke of his own: "How many FBI agents does it take to change a light bulb?"  
  
Scully gave a flat, "How many?"  
  
"None," blurted Mike--enjoying his joke immensely. "They can't touch it unless the light bulb in question has been illegally transported across state lines." Mike cracked himself up.  
  
Scully indulged Mike with a laugh. Mulder smirked then pounded the ball back to his court and began to set up the next shot. "Good one, but did you hear the one about the naked blonde, a poodle and a large Salami?"  
  
Scully shook her head, amazed by what was taking place. They had been attempting to best one another for a good five minutes. She wondered how long the competition would continue before one of them whipped out a tape measure for the "who has the biggest penis" contest. Luckily, fate intervened. Steaming bowls of pasta with marinara sauce and baby shrimp were placed before them. Scully secretly hoped that both men would keep their mouths stuffed, thus effectively silencing the verbal sparing. "Gee, this sure looks good." Scully commented loudly enough for three other people on the other side of the table to look up.  
  
Both men twirled the fettuccini onto their forks with skilled precision. Scully on-the-other-hand, struggled to capture the elusive noodles that were bobbing and weaving in her bowl. Mulder stole a glance in her direction and felt a warm smile beginning to spread across his features. How does she do that? he asked himself. One moment, she looks as cool as ice; one moment she looks hot enough to burn the sun, and the next moment, she is the epitome of all that is warm, fuzzy, and cute. Mulder's perusal of her angelic face revealed one minute flaw that warranted immediate attention. Suddenly, Mulder had to get closer to her.  
  
Mulder surreptitiously watched Mike and waited. Mike spun his fork and lifted another hefty delivery of Italian flavor to his mouth. "Ah- Choo!" Mulder sneezed and "inadvertently" jolted Mike's arm, sending a load of crimson covered pasta down to splatter onto the virgin white cotton of his starched tuxedo shirt.  
  
Mike groaned and picked up the dripping pasta, returning it to his plate. As he inspected the large stain, Scully noticed that his face was turning red. His friendly demeanor metamorphosed before their eyes. "Shit! Why don't you watch what you're friggin' doing, you moron!" Mike dabbed at his shirt with a dampened napkin, becoming more irate by the second.  
  
Mulder and Scully exchanged a look to confirm the other's suspicions that they were indeed seeing an unusual display, grossly disproportionate to the circumstance at hand. Scully lowered her voice and began to speak to Mike in a voice that Mulder had come to think of as her concerned, almost maternal, you're-only-embarrassing-yourself-here voice. "Mike, why don't you get some club soda from the bar. It might come out if you go ahead and rinse it right away."  
  
Mike remembered where he was and who he was supposed to be. His entire affect changed back into the laid-back, good-natured Dr. Mike. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry about that. I think that I must be wound a little too tightly after today's testing errors." He smiled, looking at Scully to ascertain whether or not she was buying the act.  
  
Scully let out a breath and returned a reassuring smile--the false kind of smile given to Mulder whenever she lied that she was "fine". Mulder's mind flashed on several previous assignments and decided that she could have a limb chewed off and be bleeding out of her eyeballs, and she would still present that smile as a demonstration of how "fine" she was.  
  
Her hesitant expression and tone were interpreted by Mike who decided that a temporary retreat sounded like a good idea. He hastily excused himself from the table.  
  
Mulder cut his eyes to Mike's retreating figure then back to Scully. "Nice guy." The sarcasm-o-meter was off of the scale. "Where did you meet him again?"  
  
Scully's defenses went up. Her brows raised to her hairline. There was a definite look of warning returning to her eyes.  
  
Mulder decided to stand down, for the moment. "Come over here," Mulder commanded. Scully didn't budge. Mulder tried again, this time in a hushed tone akin to seduction and all things secret. "Scoot over for minute. I don't bite." A slow, lazy grin formed on his mouth, and he said even more quietly, "Well, not hard anyway."  
  
She hated when he used that voice. Well, all right, she loved the voice and that half-lidded bedroom look that he seemed to be able to turn on and off like a light switch. What she hated was the fact that it still worked on her. You'd think that after all these years, that I'd be immune, she pondered. He had more weapons in his arsenal, all of which she was vulnerable to in varying degrees. Therefore, she chose to comply, lest he bring out the big guns.  
  
She slid over into the center seat, leaned a fraction towards Mulder, and asked, "Yes?" Scully expected shop talk, a lecture about dating safety, or some implicating remark about showing up with another guy. Scully did not expect what Mulder did next  
  
Mulder's eyes moved to her lips and his hand stretched up to her face. Scully's calm facade barely obscured the quickening of her pulse. With the pad of his thumb, he brushed the corner of her mouth.  
  
Scully's thoughts tumbled over one another, jumbled and barely coherent. In the space of less than a second, she thought: What is he doing? He's going to kiss me. Not here. Not now. Oh well, I don't even care anymore. God, he's touching my lip. Tingles. Back away. Give into it. Crack a joke. Avert your eyes. Oh, his eyes are incredible. I love them when they're dark green with golden red star burst around the pupils. People are probably looking. Forget them. They can get their own Mulder. My date will be back any second. What was his name? And I should care because...? Why is Mulder smiling at me and pulling his hand away?  
  
Mulder held Scully captive with his eyes, momentarily forgetting his previous promises sworn to himself and the fact that they were currently surrounded by over a thousand colleagues. He brought his thumb, now covered with a droplet of marinara sauce to his lips and slurped away the sauce.  
  
Years before, they had been eating barbecue in some rinky-dink town, and he had reached across the table and wiped away a renegade drop of sauce from her chin with his napkin. She had been younger then. It had taken place shortly after her abduction. Mulder seemed to have had a stronger need to protect her then, treating her with special care. She remembered that evening, and how although they were on assignment, it had felt more like she was on the date than just the usual quick stop to re-fuel and to discuss their latest case. Years ago, she had averted her eyes self- consciously then dared to gaze up at him shyly, a rosy blush on her cheeks. Now, as a more mature woman who could honestly say that she had seen just about everything and rarely exposed more than the slightest hint of reaction, she averted her eyes self consciously then dared to gaze up at him shyly, a rosy blush on her cheeks.  
  
Mulder's heart slammed against his ribs. He too recalled their previous close encounter with fond nostalgia. But what really got to him was that, for a moment, he had seen the exact same bashfully radiant look upon her face as if they existed in a bubble unaffected by time and space. The perfection of the moment stole his breath away.  
  
The bubble had burst all too soon when Scully noticed a flurry of activity and an increase in volume from across the room. "What was that?" Scully asked, once again in complete control of her faculties.  
  
Mulder turned to look. "Probably a dirty joke fest if Jacobs is involved."  
  
Scully shrugged in agreement.  
  
Meanwhile, Jacobs' hand had begun to cramp as business was beginning to pick up. Money literally changed hands under the table. Ross kept lookout, perspiration beading on his forehead at the risk of getting caught. Harmless bets between a couple of buddies were fine, but word had spread and the wagering was increasing by the minute. So far there were fifteen bets for Mulder, five for the new guy, one insisting that the iron maiden wouldn't succumb to either, and McKinze had just added seven to two odds that Mulder and Scully would lock lips right there in the ballroom.  
  
Scully willed herself to relax, "So what did you want to say?"  
  
Mulder leaned closer and waggled his eyebrows like a comic book Valentino. "Is your pasta al dente?"  
  
Her eyes rolled, and she petitioned him to come clean, "Muul-Deerr".  
  
"Okay-okay," Mulder put his hands up in surrender, "I took the projector and one of the gun crates to the Lone Gunmen this afternoon."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And nothing." Mulder shook his head at yet another mystery slipping through his fingers. "Frohike and Langly went over every millimeter of the projector. It's a common video projector set to loop the image we witnessed last night. Oh, you'll love this. The ghost appeared to be three-dimensional because a trough of dry ice was positioned overhead, constantly being doused by two IV bags set to drip at steady intervals. I pulled the foam out of the trapped door and inspected it for prints."  
  
Scully interrupted, "Find any?"  
  
"None. Whoever pulled this off knew what they were doing. Mulder had her rapt attention now. "Before you ask, no hair or fibers were found other than the ones from your coat along with a six inch strand of red hair and three broken fingernails." Mulder look down at her nails which had been recently filed shorter than usual and polished to perfection. "Manicure today, Scully?" Scully quickly tucked her nails into her palm. "You're a lousy criminal, you know?" Mulder took her hand in his and ran his thumb over the backs of her smooth nails. "You skipped out of work to get a manicure?"  
  
Scully snatched her hand back. "I didn't *skip-out* of work. I took a personal day." Thinking back on that morning, she felt her anger beginning to re-surface.  
  
Mulder must have sensed it also. He hadn't meant to insult her. The unease of the moment prompted him to say what he had really been wanting to say all evening. "Well if your needing a personal day was responsible for this," his eyes leisurely roamed over her body then returned to meet her gaze, "then I'm in favor of it. I've never seen you look more beautiful that you do tonight."  
  
The flush on Scully's cheeks deepened, and she was temporarily at a loss for what to say. She could take his double-entendres, playful leers, and innuendoes in stride, but sincerity rendered her motionless.  
  
Mulder hadn't meant to be so bold. Mulder hadn't meant to say that at all. Now you've done it. She may never come close to you again. Mulder thought while taking in her stunned silence; her open mouth, her eyes wide and starring. Well, at least you won't have to push her away anymore. She's liable to run from you on her own initiative. That's what you wanted, right? Mulder swallowed hard, and again his mind uttered a quiet but powerful, No. Mulder fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth, wishing desperately that he had a time machine.  
  
Scully spoke a scarcely audible, "Thanks, Mulder."  
  
As seconds passed, neither one of them spoke. Scully finally said something, "I think that I should switch places again. Mike probably won't appreciate the change in seating arrangement."  
  
"You think that he'll throw another hissy fit?" Mulder winked. "Or, are you just trying to get away from me?"  
  
Scully took the bait. "Yes."  
  
"Aw come on, if you don't sit next to me, who's going to help me stay awake for the awards ceremony?" Mulder playfully laid his cheek upon her shoulder and delivered his patented poor-little-puppy-dog look.  
  
"Oh no," Scully shook her head from side to side. "Don't even think about it." Truth be told, Scully would've been happy to have Mulder's head resting against her shoulder for the remainder of the evening. However, she was at an official function of the Bureau, in full view of her colleagues, and she had come to this affair with another man. She also took a moment to remind herself that had Mulder not been acting so strange and extra self-indulgent lately, she would have never resorted to asking a complete stranger to bring her to this dance.  
  
"Scullllllyyyyy.....pleeeeeeaaase," he begged shamelessly.  
  
"Uh-uh Mister," Scully tried with little success to gently pry Mulder's head away from her arm. "You made your bed, now lie in it."  
  
Mulder moved his lips a little closer to her ear and countered, "Only if you join me."  
  
"In your dreams..."  
  
"My better ones anyway," Mulder lulled, his hot breath against her collar.  
  
When Mulder decided to flirt, he went all out. The trouble was, Scully was never certain whether he was in earnest or in jest. Regardless of his intent, now was not the time nor the place to call his bluff. So, she settled instead for poking her index finger into Mulder's temple.  
  
"Ow, Scully, what did you do that for?"  
  
"I tried being nice," Scully explained sweetly, "but you wouldn't budge." Scully blew on the tip of her index finger as though she were blowing the smoke away from the barrel of an imaginary gun. "That always worked on my brothers during long car trips." Scully grinned wickedly without a speck of remorse. "Nobody ever fell asleep on this little sister in the back seat." Thoroughly pleased with herself, she holstered the "gun" and started back to her seat. Scully chanced a look at Mulder who was preparing some lewd retort about her being in a back seat., and stopped him in his tracks. "Don't even..."  
  
Mulder held her forearm to prevent her from moving. He then turned his head in the direction of the main stage area and pointed. "Hey Scully, look over there." Scully turned her head to look, while Mulder took the opportunity to reach across and exchange Mike's place settings with hers. By the time he had completed his less than covert operation, Scully had turned to face him with hands on her hips and the look on her face.  
  
"Cute, Mulder. Now put them back." Mulder sat defiantly and refused to cooperate. Scully made no serious attempt to rectify the situation. Rather, she continued to play the game a little while longer, her date all but forgotten. Sometimes on occasions like these, when they disagreed over silly and frivolous things, she would get the insane impulse to plant a quick kiss square on his mouth, just to see if she could confuse him enough to give up and let her have her way. Not that she would ever act on such a crazy notion.  
  
Mike chose that very same moment to return. He stopped behind the chairs, pausing before seating himself on the other side of Dana. If he was annoyed in any way, it didn't show. Scully turned her attention back to her date, inquiring about his luck at removing the stain. Scully laughed at some comment whispered into her ear.  
  
Mulder watched the two of them from the corner of his eye. Mike's fingers cupped Scully's shoulder. Mulder thought seriously for a moment about leaning down and biting off the offensive digits. Maybe he was just over protective. Maybe he was just jealous. All Mulder knew was that something didn't add up about this guy.  
  
A battalion of waiters appeared with trays full of turtle cheesecake. Supper dishes were cleared efficiently, and wonderful plates of creamy confection were placed before each guest. After the waiters retreated, the lights dimmed in preparation for the awards presentations.  
  
An hour later Mulder awoke to the feeling of Scully's three-inch heel jabbing at his foot. He was relieved that he had slept through the entire ceremony. Typically, the upper echelon and brown-nosed usurpers were the only ones who benefited from dog and pony shows like these. Now that the ceremony was over the lights dimmed further still and a reflected shimmer originating from the center of the dance floor swam around the room, bathing everything and everyone in swirling bands of starlight. The musicians began with a few watered-down selections of popular music. By the time they began their fifth piece, an instrumental version of "Careless Whispers", the dance floor had begun to fill. After agonizing minutes of internal debate, Mulder had finally worked up the courage to ask Scully for a dance, but he was too late. Mulder watched as Mike guided Scully to the dance floor, Mike's hand touching her bare back as he maneuvered her effortlessly around the floor. Who is this guy? Mulder asked himself, Arthur Murry? Scully twirled away from Mike then back into his embrace before being dipped deeply in perfect sync with the music.  
  
Mulder eyed Mike with thinly disguised contempt. His mind replayed the scene from earlier in the evening when Dr. Mike had given his best Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde impersonation. The thought of another man's hands on Scully angered Mulder. It reminded him of how he had felt when he had learned of Scully's seedy encounter with Ed Jerse and that damned tattoo forever marring her otherwise flawless skin. Mulder had always felt responsible for that particular episode. Maybe it was simply a byproduct of his egocentrism--always having to be an integral part of every situation, but Mulder had come to believe that, had he listened to his partner, cared for her needs better, that she would have never gone looking for fulfillment and rebellion in the form of a tall, dark, total stranger. That stranger, in a heightened state of psychosis, had beaten and almost killed his beloved. Mulder was not about to let anything like that happen again.  
  
Since Mike hadn't been very forthcoming with information about himself, and since Scully wasn't likely to tolerate any further interrogation of her dinner guest, Mulder took it upon himself to do a little investigating on his own. He unfolded a clean dinner napkin and wrapped it around Mike's empty drinking glass, then slipped the goblet into his pocket and headed for the door. Mulder thought that he heard a surprised gasp and saw the flash of money being exchanged out of the corner of his eye as he reached for the exit.  
  
Scully suppressed an ever-increasing wave of nausea as she was spun for the hundredth time back into the predatory clutches of Dr. Mike Adams. She was uncertain of whether the sick feeling was in response to Mike's tobacco-ripe breath, his escalating campaign to invade her personal space, her guilt over being with another man within Mulder's sight, or just plain old motion sickness. Scully stiff-armed her date in a futile effort to recapture a few inches of freedom. His stale breath fell upon her in repulsive puffs as Mike suggested that she go out with him for some coffee or something after this "shindig" came to a close. What a no-brainer, Scully thought caustically. She may have been originally taken in by his innocent act, but it had become increasingly apparent to her that she had picked up a weirdo. The song ended, and she sighed in relief. Maybe she and Mulder could get that telepathic partner thing going when she returned to their table. If she were lucky, maybe Mulder would run interference for her, save her from another dance with Dr. Strangelove here. Maybe, she dared to hope, Mulder would ask her to dance, purely as a friendly gesture. And maybe he will pass you a note in study hall, her inner voice censured. Grow up, Dana.  
  
As Scully approached her table her heart sank. Mulder had left. Why should that surprise you? It's been over twelve hours since the last time he took off without you, she acquiesced. Unfortunately, she felt a stab of sadness rather than a resurgence of her prior anger as she contemplated the possibility that Mulder had been bothered by her relationship--if you could call it that--with Mike.  
  
Maybe I'm being too hard on Mike. That shirt was probably expensive and he has been treating me well. Scully rebuked herself for instantly dismissing Mike's company simply because he danced too closely for her comfort and had a bit of a temper. Compared to Mulder, Mike comes across as fairly mild. Compared to Mulder, Mike is attentive and sensitive. Compared to Mulder, no other man alive stood a chance, and she knew it. So, where did he run off to this time?  
  
The band broke out in its version of "Jump, Jive and Wail". Mike stood and offered his hand to Scully. "I love to Swing Dance. What do you say?"  
  
Who is this guy, Arthur Murry? Scully questioned and begged out of dancing with the ever popular, "I'd love to but these new shoes are killing me" excuse.  
  
Mike accepted her refusal grudgingly and sank into a nearby chair. Scully busied herself by thinking up a plan to get out of any more "fun" with Mike. Now that Mulder had left the party, she didn't see any point in hanging around. She couldn't help it. He could be a complete ass at times, yet her loyalty and friendship never waned. She didn't want to miss him. She just did.  
  
Just as Scully was about to call it a night, Mike's breast pocket began to ring. "Oh, be right back." He made his way to the exit as though he was escaping a burning building.  
  
You have a gift Dana, given that men just can't seem to leave you fast enough. A few minutes later, Scully was growing increasingly impatient. Mike hadn't returned quickly as promised. For a woman who had gathered more male attention earlier in the evening than she knew what to do with, she felt alone and vulnerable as she sat at her empty table, toying absently with the centerpiece. After another five minutes, Scully had gone from feeling vulnerable to feeling down right naked. Time to leave, party girl. Maybe Dr. Mike has ditched you too, Scully thought but refused to give into the self-pity that threatened to overtake her. To save herself from unwanted conjecture from the peanut gallery, she palmed her evening bag and stood to leave.  
  
Meanwhile, across the room, Jacobs, Ross, and McKinze were beginning to realize that they were looking at a rainout as far as bets were concerned. It should have occurred to more than one of them that Agent Scully might go home alone, but it hadn't. They had apparently been fooled by her appearance tonight in conjunction with her choice of two men in such proximity. Jacob's let out a huff of resignation and began to tally the damage. Ross was just happy that no one had been caught gambling less than one hundred feet from the Attorney General. Unfortunately, the thirty- seven participants in the pool weren't as glad to forfeit the game so quickly. Jacobs was doing his best to smooth feathers.  
  
*****  
  
Mulder clinched his jaw as he ascended the stairs to the lobby of the hotel. He had to get to Scully before she was in true danger. As he reached to push the revolving door to enter, he caught the scent of cigarette smoke on the wind. Something about it's particular aroma made his blood run cold. A smoldering cigarette butt lay on the pavement, and upon closer inspection, Mulder discovered that it was the same brand as that smoked by Cancer Man. Mulder looked around and spotted a faint trail of fresh smoke coming from a recess in the outer wall behind a potted tree. Mulder eased his way closer and peered cautiously around the corner, expecting to see the last man on Earth that he would ever trust. He had been wrong, but only by degrees.  
  
Dr. Adams sucked on the Morley smoke, and whispered harshly into the phone. "No, but I'm working on it. I've won her trust. It's only a matter of time before you'll get what you want...Yeah, well, by reputation, I'm surprised he stuck around for as long as he did......No, but in the process I can't say that I haven't enjoyed getting closer to this supposed Ice Queen of the FBI......Yes, I know what you want, and you'll get it. I've got to go. She may be getting suspicious by now."  
  
Mulder rushed inside before he could have been spotted and made a beeline for the ballroom. He entered in time to see Scully begin to collect her belongings and stand. The last thing that Mulder wanted was to allow Mike to intercept Scully in the foyer. Preoccupied by the hem of the gown caught on her heel, she didn't see Mulder enter the room.  
  
An electric pulse shot through her, originating at the small of her back in response to the large, warm hand of one Fox W. Mulder. Scully tried to turn in his direction only to be halted by his other hand encircling her shoulder. He bent down, brushing his cheek along her hair and murmured, "Can I have this dance?"  
  
Scully wanted to know where Mulder had gone and why he had decided to return. He promised answers if she followed him. A part of her brain observed that the rumor mill would spin out of control if she danced with Mulder. She looked helplessly at the door and inadvertently made eye contact with Mike, back from his sabbatical no doubt. Mulder leaned to her ear again, "Come on, Cinderella." In the end, she was spared any decision trauma as she had instantaneously been stricken with a complete loss of higher brain function. Every molecule of her being focused on the sound of his voice and the energy being transduced through her cool skin and into her body via his strong steady hands on her bare skin. Mulder had touched her back and shoulders thousands of times, but never like this. She drifted along the path to the dance floor, a weightless extension of Mulder's arms.  
  
The band wound down a jazzy number then went silent. The pianist was joined by a young man with a saxophone. All of the other musicians stilled in preparation for the duet. The pianist played four solitary chords, filling the room with haunting vibrations that called to the hearts of every unrequited lover within its reach. Rich, deep tones from the saxophone melted into the tune, providing a melody that had surely been composed for the lost, the love lorn, and the hopelessly hopeful of the world.  
  
Mulder enfolded Scully into his embrace and waltzed her around the floor. The dim light accentuated the fire in her hair, and Mulder couldn't get enough of the sight of her. His thumb stroked her back. Mulder had lost what he had intended to tell her. Lost.  
  
Scully felt nervous as her body waged war with her mind. Mulder's arms felt so good around her. They conjured up the memory of the time when he held her to his chest and bent to kiss her. She could still feel it, the anticipation, the inability to stop it, the disappointment as she twisted her head to the side abruptly because of that damn bee that had almost taken her life. More importantly, it had cost her the one time opportunity to experience Mulder's kiss. It had probably been for the best, she lied to herself. Her partnership depended upon maintaining a professional association with Mulder. Yeah, like things have been going so smoothly since then, her mind pointed out. Regardless, Scully struggled inwardly against the need to be held by him. His heartbeat called to her like a siren's song. It would be so incredibly easy to close the gap between them and to lean into his frame. So, so easy.  
  
A collective sigh emanated from most of the women watching the floorshow from the "Pro-Mulder" table.  
  
Scully's sense of self-preservation alerted her to the potential disaster presented by their current situation. Her mind was becoming acutely aware of the fact that they were most likely being watched. As a woman in a man's field, protecting her reputation and career had always been priorities. If she were to slip up here and now...  
  
Still, the look in his eyes made her knees weaken and hushed the opposing views from within. Game over. The impulse to rest in his arms could no longer be resisted. Mulder hugged her close to his chest. Both of his hands caressed her bare back as he abandoned the waltz in favor of smaller steps taken near in the center of the floor. Somehow, ballroom- style dancing and the intimacy of the moment seemed incongruent.  
  
Mulder's eyes fell upon her upturned mouth, the ruby softness of her lips tempting him. To prevent himself from stealing a kiss and possibly embarrassing Scully, he squeezed her closer still, resting his forehead gently upon her temple. Scully didn't resist, her small, soft body melding into the hard planes of Mulder's chest as he clasped her to him. She adjusted her head slightly against his, and he took the movement as an unspoken invitation to kiss her.  
  
Mulder pulled away the merest fraction, looking for confirmation. And, as much as she wanted to protect her heart and her pride, she was powerless to keep her need for him out of her eyes. Mulder began his descent. Scully's heart beat wildly. His mouth closed from a mere three inches away. He had never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life. Her arms slid around his neck and "WHAM!" McKinze fell backwards out of his chair.  
  
Mulder and Scully jumped guiltily apart. A roar of laughter mixed with muffled exclamations of reproach rose up from the general vicinity of Jacob's table. At least the attention wasn't on us, Scully thought thankfully. Disappointed but pragmatic as always, she took the distraction as a chance to compose herself then redirected Mulder, "So, what did you want to tell me?"  
  
For Mulder, the urge to kill had never been stronger. He quelled his anger by rationalizing that McKinze had most likely saved Scully's and his working relationship given that fraternization between partners was definitely an official no-no. Mulder refocused on the mission at hand. "So, when *did* you meet this Mike character?" He was unable to keep his voice free of disdain.  
  
"Excuse me?" Surely Mulder wasn't going to do this here? Now?  
  
Mulder didn't attempt to clarify his words, opting instead to get straight to the point. "I did some checking on your Dr. Adams. There is no record of him at the Bureau as an agent, a contractor, a janitor, nothing. I took his glass, checked the prints, and..."  
  
Scully interrupted, "You did what?" Scully felt as if the world had suddenly tilted 180 degrees as she had gone from absolute bliss to defensive rage in the matter of a few moments. A haze of red began to blur her vision. The pounding in her ears made it challenging to hear his response.  
  
Oblivious to the fury building in front of him, Mulder continued, "Checked his prints. Nothing. This guy doesn't exist anywhere in the system." He spoke quickly, eager to tell her of his valiant detective work. "Oh, when I came back in, he was smoking Morleys and speaking about you cryptically into his cell phone." Mulder draped a protective arm around her shoulders as if to bring her into his confidence. "I think that you should stay away from him, Scully. He's trouble, maybe even a plant from the consortium or someone trying to exact revenge on us from a previous conviction. Anyway, I just wanted you to be on the up and up. Meanwhile, I'll keep digging to see what I can find." Thoroughly pleased with himself for preventing Scully from making a dangerous mistake, Mulder completely missed her thinning lips and cold glare.  
  
"Come with me, please." Scully put her hand up to block him from responding. "Honest to God Mulder, one sexual wise-crack out of you, and I'll deck you so hard that your great grand children will feel it."  
  
By now, Mulder had concluded that she was a little upset. Probably just relieved to avoid another close call, he reflected as he was led out into the hallway and then into an adjacent empty lounge. Nothing had prepared him for the daggers in her eyes when she turned.  
  
Scully paced in front of him, muttering to herself briefly before turning directly on him. She began to speak with a low and quiet force that scared him to death. "Tell me Mulder, at which point during the evening did you decide to treat my date like a suspect?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "Let me guess, two seconds after you met him, right?"  
  
"Oh, that's gratitude for you. I keep you from making another mistake, and you chew me out." Mulder rapidly exchanged confusion for indignation.  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Afraid that I might decide to have a life, or is it my judgment in general that is in question?" Scully saw the lock slide open to the place where she had packed away all of her pain and frustration over the past five years. It was too late to shove them back inside. Her voice wanted to crack and crumble into pieces only to be swept away by her angry tears, but she refused to fall apart now.  
  
"Hey, your track record with men isn't exactly stellar, you know? I mean, for all you know, this guy could be a serial killer." Mulder stood his ground.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Scully spat sarcastically. "I wasn't aware that I had to submit any potential dates for your approval. God knows Mulder, no one could ever measure up to your standards when it comes to scoring dates. I mean, you waited all of what, thirty seconds before going down on a suspect, a police chief, a self admitted vampire, that English bitch, the bug doctor...shall I continue?" Scully dropped her gaze to the floor as white-hot pain tore through her body at the memory of Mulder's conquests.  
  
"So what? This is about jealousy? Did you pick up Mike--if that really is his name--just to get me back for not asking you to this friggin' dance?"  
  
Hurt pride propelled Scully to say what she had been thinking on many occasions since they had begun to work together. "Of course Mulder, isn't everything about you? I mean, my entire purpose for being is to clean up your messes, take your phone messages, go with you whenever and wherever simply out of my undying allegiance to you. And if that wasn't enough, apparently I'm supposed to remain chaste and available, as monument to my loyalty, while you parade your whores in front of me without a second thought. On the few occasions that I slipped up and decided to have a moment of my life that didn't revolve solely around you, you wait and watch for the perfect opportunity to come charging in to say, 'I told you so'."  
  
"Well, I never had to wait and watch for long, did I?" Mulder lashed. "Let's see now, there was Eddie the shape shifting serial rapist who had you practically falling over with your legs in the air. And my favorite, Ed Jerse the tattooed, psychopathic barfly that you *literally* picked up on a street corner. You came back with a tattoo and several contusions as souvenirs from that little trek as I remember. So don't stand there with that holier-than-thou attitude and lecture me about whoring!" Mulder recoiled, horrified by what he had just said, the stricken look on her face more than he could bear. If she cried, he would go down upon his knees and beg for forgiveness for what he had just called her.  
  
Her mouth clamped shut to stifle the sob brought forth by one of the most painful moments in her life. With unshed tears standing in her eyes, and a heart full of scorn, she wanted to hurt him back. "You think I'm stupid? I came in my own car. I haven't been drinking. And yes, I figured out on my own that Mike should be avoided, and all of that, without your self-deluded assistance, thank you very much." Scully turned to leave then looked back, a tear streaking down her face. "And another thing Mulder," she rasped, "I only got that stupid snake chasing its tail tattoo because I was drunk, lonely, and pissed off about the repetitive futility that has reigned supreme in my life since the day I first met YOU!" The world dissolved around Scully into blurred streams of bleeding color as she all but ran away.  
  
Mulder stood in stunned silence, the process of numbing disassociation already in progress. It was as if all of his strength had been siphoned away, and his mind intentionally blocked any coherent thought or plan of action that could be summoned. He fell backwards onto the rounded lounge sofa and hung his head.  
  
McKinze stepped back so as not to be caught spying. He had been sent out into the hallway to verify that Mulder had won. It seemed an unnecessary formality given what he had seen in the ballroom before he tumped over onto the floor.  
  
McKinze couldn't really say that he knew either Agent Mulder or Agent Scully personally. Everyone knew of them. Despite the lack of respect given to them by virtue of the nature of their work, most agreed-- whether they wanted to or not--that the pair was unbeatable in terms of profiling and resolving cases. McKinze had always felt that the resentment and teasing of the agents was most likely a product of bruised male egos on the behalf of Agent Scully and envy regarding the loyalty they had towards each other and towards their work. Even though he'd never been an actual friend to either of them, McKinze felt as though he had just witnessed the final act in a tragedy of gigantic proportions. The dissolution of a close friendship and, he suspected, the breaking of two hearts was never an easy thing to watch.  
  
McKinze returned to the table and delivered the solitary statement that Mulder did not leave with Agent Scully. He felt as though he somehow owed it to them not to report on what had befallen the couple. Reactions were varied. Payments were exchanged. Janet Reno's personal assistant, Kevin, commented that the mood of the festivities now seemed about as upbeat as a homecoming dance after the home team had gotten its ass kicked. With the party winding down anyway, the crowd began to disband and leave for home.  
  
Some time later, Mulder tugged his bow tie loose and ambled back into the main hall, heading for the door. Someone thumped him hard on the shoulder, and he spun around to see who was bothering him now. Attorney General Reno scowled at him and, with a disapproving shake of her head, informed him that he owed her twenty dollars. Ms. Reno left a befuddled Mulder in her wake, and Kevin chuckling after her.  
  
"What the???" Whatever, he thought. Mulder couldn't get back to his apartment fast enough.  
  
*****  
  
Fiery liquid seared its way down Mulder's throat and chest, the burning sensation replacing the aching in his heart for a few seconds only. Light from the fish tank provided the only illumination in his apartment, casting its long, rippling shadows over the living room; the stretching light like fingers in search of something elusive.  
  
It was over. It was over.  
  
Every word, every vision from that evening replayed relentlessly in his mind; her words still ringing in his ears. He had been right. She *had* regretted ever meeting him, working with him, everything that had happened. She had lied to him. The only truth that he had ever been sure of, and she had lied to him.  
  
I don't need her. She saved me the trouble, he thought, feeling as though he had been wronged. If that was the way she felt, then he was glad to be rid of her. For all he knew, she could have been a spy after all. She had me convinced of her loyalty and friendship. Hell, I was stupid enough to have believed that maybe she felt...that she was in...Shit. Screw her! Anger flooded through him. Mulder rubbed his bleary eyes while nurturing the hostility growing in his breast. I was right. She couldn't wait to walk out on me, stuck around all of this time just to mess with my head, the bitch. I wonder why she waited this long. Mulder slammed another shot and pitched the glass against the wall sending shards scattering across the hardwood floor.  
  
Mulder buried his face in his hands and waited for the tequila to go to his head. It was then that he detected something peculiar. Scully's scent, the one he had secretly enjoyed over the duration of their partnership, clung to his hand from their dance earlier. But instead of the excitement and the peace typically derived from catching a trace of her scent on the wind, Mulder thought that there was something disturbing about the sweetness of the aroma. A foreign fragrance exacted its influence by attempting to conceal Scully's own heavenly redolence. In comparison to Scully, the perfume seemed stale and acrid, yet there was something familiar about it. Mulder inhaled deeply and opened his mind in a sort of free-floating association in an attempt to unlock memories and form connections. Mulder's mind did not disappoint, although a part of him wished that it had.  
  
The memory of a small town under the tyranny of two teenage witches slid into focus. They had been called in by a local police detective to assist with an investigation. Mulder was still unclear as to why he and Scully had behaved as badly to one another as they had. The universe itself had seemed on edge that week.  
  
Basically, Mulder had behaved like a perfect ass. He had demonstrated the audacity to announce to all present at a suspect's interrogation that *someone* in the room was wearing his favorite perfume. He had unceremoniously sniffed Scully's neck before deciding that the leggy, blonde detective in the room was the lucky winner. Later that day, Scully had walked in on him and saw that same detective straddling his thighs. Even though he had truly been trying to get away from the overly aggressive blonde's grasp--out of loyalty to Scully--it had to have looked as if he had been "going down" on Detective White from Scully's perspective.  
  
However, Scully's unfavorable assessment of his indiscretions hadn't been totally unfounded. During his association with an entomologist named Dr. Bambi--the kind of name one would expect to see in the title of one of Mulder's *special* movies--he had been unthoughtful and crass towards Scully. Even so, if his brief liaisons with Dr. Bambi, Detective White, Phoebe Green and a few others over the years had proven anything, it was that no woman in his arms could ever compare to Scully in his heart, and he had unjustly resented her for it. The knowledge that his feelings could never come to fruition frustrated him to the point of anger. After all, it was surely easier to agitate and to vex Scully than to have remained foolishly optimistic about a relationship with her that most probably existed solely in his head.  
  
That argument may have alleviated some of his feelings of guilt at one time, but now he experienced that guilt returning to him ten fold. He wished that he possessed the ability to blot the betrayals, perceived or otherwise, from existence. The trouble was, apparently Scully hadn't forgotten, and he had never felt as low as he did now.  
  
Scully had come to the banquet earlier that night wearing the very same perfume previously in question. Even after he had rejected her, she had come to him wearing what she thought he would like best. The act humbled him. As they had danced, he discovered that he had been unable to discourage his draw towards her. Holding her close amidst the crackling current surrounding them, he found that he had wanted and wanted and wanted her with every fiber of his being. He could have cared less about the scrutiny that they had most likely been receiving. She was the only thing in his universe. They were gravitational bodies. He stood no greater chance of escaping her pull than the Earth stood in breaking away from the blazing sun. And he found that he had simply wanted and wanted and wanted her.  
  
The cocktail of endorphins pumping through his body had loosened his inhibitions. Thought had fled, the all-encompassing attraction irresistible. Unfortunately, thanks to the loud clatter of McKinze's chair hitting the parquet, they had thought it necessary to relinquish each other's grasp in retreat.  
  
For the first time in a long while, Mulder stepped outside of himself and began to see things from a new perspective. Scully must be thinking that the only reason that he had condescended to dance with her in the first place, was merely to discuss his latest "case" regarding her date. From her vantage point, he had as much as said that he wasn't interested in her socially despite their apparent closeness, that she wasn't even close to being his type, that she had perpetually lousy judgment when it came to the few men she had gone out with in almost six years; and that although she was the first person he would almost always run to when he needed something, he chose to look elsewhere when what he needed was a woman.  
  
Mulder had been so busy trying to stay away from her lately that he had ceased to consider his reasons for doing so. Now, faced with a future that didn't include Scully, his heart suffered the burden that he had forced her out of his life hurting her deeply in the process.  
  
Mulder stared at the phone for a good five minutes as he tried to compose his thoughts into spoken language and, for the second time that night, found that he couldn't. He slumped against the worn leather of his couch wanting nothing more than to undo what he had done that night.  
  
There was a knock on the door. Mulder stood and looked quizzically at the clock that read 2:31 am. He opened the door to find the only woman he would ever love standing in the hallway. Her hair was damp and she looked pensive, reluctant to intrude into Mulder's domicile. He offered to take her trench coat, but she refused. Mulder moved to the back of his living room and into his comfort zone, willing the words that he needed to say into existence, but they adamantly refused to cooperate.  
  
Scully experienced the same aphasia, her voice trapped beneath a deluge of tears waiting only for her first syllable to begin their downpour. His image swam before her as he turned to face her with his own tears standing in his eyes. He opened his arms to her, and she rushed into his embrace. "I'm sorry," tumbled from his lips.  
  
"I'm sorry, too," she managed to choke out.  
  
No other words were needed as they fell into one another. Mulder kissed away each tear and held her as closely as he could. He traced the shell of her perfect ear and down the column of her neck. She shivered in response to his hands on her body and also because the coat around her had become cold and wet on her way to Mulder, she supposed, unable to recall the details. His hands dropped to her chest as he unfastened her coat. There was nothing accidental about his touch this time as he pushed the jacket from her shoulders and kissed a patch of pale skin where her shoulder met her neck. Scully felt Mulder stepping back slightly as he took in her dress or lack there of. She was clad in a forest green slip of a nightgown that hugged her body in all of the right places. It's shimmering satin begged to be touched. Mulder smiled his gratitude, and then, with his index finger, he lightly tilted her face up to meet his as he descended upon her waiting lips.  
  
There was nothing sweeter in the world than that kiss.  
  
The rush he felt gave him the courage to finally say aloud the words that he had never said to anyone, even to himself. "I love you."  
  
Scully broke away from his kiss to look him in the eye. She wanted desperately to tell him of her feelings for him, "Mulder, I love you too." Her heart soared. She Soared. Higher and higher she flew, the weight of her secret no longer holding her down. She opened her eyes when she heard Mulder calling after her. She could no longer see him. "Mulder!" she cried. "Mulder!" She lost her bearings as she felt herself being carried across some invisible land. "Mulder! I'm here. Mulder! Don't leave me. Mulder!?"  
  
The sound of her voice evaporated as Mulder watched his worst nightmare coming true. Their admissions of love had caused a rift, breaking them apart with an unearthly power and taking her away from him. He could do nothing but watch her drift further and further away.  
  
Mulder woke-up with a start, his brow glistening with perspiration. His mouth still feeling and tasting hers as he recalled the dream that had felt so real. "If only it were that simple," he said to himself. Maybe she felt that way now, maybe she didn't. Either way, the tatters of their joint careers and relationship had already received irreconcilable damage from earlier that evening. Either way, he wasn't about to go over to Scully's apartment and confess his love for her. No good could ever come of it. Unwilling and unable to sleep, Mulder sat at his computer and began to type.  
  
*****  
  
Dana Scully sat bolt upright in bed. Her bedside clock lit the time as 2:36 a.m. Her hand pressed against her lips savoring the sensation of Mulder's kiss that had felt so incredibly real. In the fantasy, Mulder loved her as much as she loved him. She loved him. She *loved* him. The thought spun in her mind. Her heart had known that she had loved him almost from the beginning. But now, the intense revelation refused to be hidden any longer. And although it was a fact that had been evident for a long time, attaching the words and the scope of the commitment inherent in them shook the foundation on which she had so carefully constructed her life. Thrilled by the clarity of the moment, she hopped off of the bed, shoved her cold feet into her fuzzy slippers and began to pick out clothes from her closet in preparation to go running to Mulder in the middle of the night.  
  
Scully ran a hand through her hair which was still damp from her shower over an hour ago then stopped short of her dresser. She had shaken off the last traces of sleep and began to think more clearly. Mulder hadn't said that he loved her. Mulder hadn't apologized and neither had she. In truth, he would probably never speak to her again after the spiteful things that she had said. She'd lost her opportunity to love him, and even more importantly, she had just lost the closest friend she'd ever had.  
  
After setting the blue jeans on the bed, she walked over to her dresser and unlocked her drawer of secret treasures. In it, she found the same green shift that she had been wearing in her dream. Melissa had given it to her for her birthday, shortly after her recovery from her abduction and coma. Scully smiled a sad smile when she recalled her sister's words. "I definitely think that you'll be needing this in the future." Scully discounted Melissa's prediction stating that was not the kind of relationship she wanted to have with Mulder. Melissa got that far away look on her face and said in an almost a trance like voice, "When two souls are joined so completely, there will come a time when they are no longer able to stand the hardship of separation. When that moment comes, give into it, Dana. Fate will take care of the rest."  
  
Scully looked heavenward for her sister, "Well Melissa, at least I got to wear it once, even if it had been only a dream." Scully smiled inwardly thinking that Melissa would have liked that.  
  
Scully neatly folded the nightgown and placed it back into its cubbyhole. She retrieved a picture frame, and started to tear up. There she sat at a picnic table, her mock disapproval clashing with enjoyment on her face in a half smirk as Mulder took their picture with a Polaroid camera. On the table in front of her, sat the most lop-sided cake that she's ever seen. It sported drooping icing and two birthday candles, an emergency candle, a half used up votive candle and two lit matches sticking up on the cake blazing brightly. He had baked, or tried to bake, a cake for the six-month anniversary of her cancer's remission. He admittedly hadn't had all of the necessary supplies, but it was a rare and touching gesture all the same. He had remembered her, not their work, not his own interest, but her. It had felt good, and she held that day snugly to her, keeping the picture for when she needed a good reason not to kill him.  
  
Her friend.  
  
Her love.  
  
Her loss.  
  
For that evening, she had cut him to the core, feeding upon his insecurities and natural distrust. She had done such a good job of it, that he would most likely never willingly be in her company in the future. Oh God, what have I done? she petitioned God in the solitude of her bedroom as she fell to her knees and wept.  
  
Scully awoke to the shrill ringing of her telephone. Her sleep- addled brain was momentarily disoriented as she had apparently cried her self to sleep, spending the entire night and a good deal of the morning on the floor by the foot of her bed. She rose to her bed side--now more fully awake, and her heart leapt with joy at the mere prospect of talking to Mulder. As she answered, she tried hard to hide the disappointment from her mother on the other end of the phone. "Hi Mom." Scully pulled the phone into her lap as she scooted to the headboard for support. "No, I'm just a little tired, that's all." Scully listened to her mother's plan to come into the city for other errands and that she wanted to stop by and check-up on her. Normally, Scully would have refused to admit that she needed someone to comfort her. Today however, she really, really needed her mother. Therefore, after a surprising lack of resistance, Maggie stated that she'd be by around one o'clock p.m. and that she would bring over some lunch.  
  
Three hours later, her mother arrived. Scully picked at her sandwich. Maggie sighed in distress at her baby girl's anguish. Grudgingly, Scully had recounted the events of last night's party including the argument. After she had finished the tale--excluding the dream, of course, she sat back nibbling at a now rubbery french fry.  
  
"Was he wrong?" Maggie asked.  
  
"About what?" Scully puzzled.  
  
"Was he wrong about Mike?"  
  
Scully hedged and tried to avoid comment, but one look at her mom told her that Maggie had no intentions of backing down. "No, not really," came the meek reply.  
  
"And those other men, was he wrong to want to protect you?" Margaret waited for Dana to run through every evasive strategy in her pretty head. She could honestly see the wheels turning. Under maternal duress, Scully folded, nodding in silent agreement.  
  
Scully rallied back, "So he potentially could have saved me from them, big deal. What gives him the right to assume that I couldn't have fended for myself . Especially since I hadn't slept with any of them or anyone else for longer than I care to admit. Meanwhile, his picks for female companionship have demonstrated worse judgment than I've ever shown."  
  
"Are you sure about that?" Scully looked confused. "Let me ask you this way, had your situations been reversed, what would you have believed and done? Would you have wanted to keep him from making another mistake, even a life threatening one?" Maggie took her daughter's hand and smiled compassionately. "Honey, I'm not justifying those things that he said to you. I just want you to try to see two sides to this. You two have to talk this thing out. When you love someone, that's what you have to do."  
  
Scully swallowed hard, closed her eyes, and gave a curt shake of her head. Then with scarcely enough volume to reach her mother, "I'm afraid that I've already lost him forever. Assuming that I could make him listen to me, what would I say?"  
  
"That's for you to know and for Fox to find out. Believe me, it's not as impossible as you both think. He loves you, Dana. I've seen it. It scares him just like it scares you. He's probably never put that amount of faith in another living soul. And I'm certain that you love him deeply also. If you both believe in that truth, then that truth can save you both." Maggie rose from her chair and cradled Dana's head against her waist, dipping to kiss the top of her head.  
  
Scully's lip began to quiver as her mother eloquently spoke what had been written in Dana's heart for so long. That she had done so with words that were echoes of Mulder's past reassurances to her, only strengthened their impact and validity. "But how do I tell him? How do I get him to open up to me?"  
  
Maggie smiled wistfully and paused as if she were listening to a sound carried on the wind, then said, "Trust your heart and bare your soul. Fate will take care of the rest."  
  
As promised, fate did make an appearance that afternoon. A few minutes after her mother left, Dana answered the door to a skinny, acne riddled, teen-aged messenger. He was thanked, tipped, and practically pushed out of the doorway in her haste to open the letter.  
  
  
  
Scully,  
  
I really need to talk to you. I will wait for you at Goodwill  
  
Harbor at four o'clock today. Directions are enclosed. Please  
  
come and everything will be made clear.  
  
-M  
  
Two hours later, Dana found herself tempted to strangle Mulder for his directions. Leave it to him to come up with the most convoluted route to the Marina. Still, she would make it by four p.m., a fact that reassured her and terrified her simultaneously.  
  
The weather had not improved. Perpetual drizzle saturated the air, and the temperature hovered around forty degrees. Her car ground to a halt in the parking lot overlooking rows of sailboats and commercial fishing boats. Most obviously had better sense than to traverse the elements. Scully hopped from one patch of exposed blacktop to the next, in a game of puddle hopscotch. She looked all around for Mulder who was nowhere in sight. A man in a yellow rain slicker waved from the deck of a nearby schooner. Scully cautiously made her way to him.  
  
"Are you Scully?" he shouted through the increasing rain.  
  
"Who wants to know?" Scully ventured with an instantaneous paranoia that surprised her.  
  
"Look, Miss, I was hired by this guy named Fox Mulder to give you a ride out to the old lighthouse on the edge of the harbor." He looked like he would much rather be at home watching sporting events than out in this slush doling out taxi rides.  
  
Still wary, "How do I know you're telling me the truth?"  
  
The man laughed. "He knew you were going to ask me that." The round, jovial man almost put her at ease, but she still stayed at the ready to pull her revolver from her holster if necessary. He stepped closer to her and motioned for her to open her hand. He proceeded to fill her palm with sunflower seeds. She smiled in relief and climbed aboard.  
  
Together, they made their way across choppy seas through the veil of increasing fog. "Are you sure that it's safe to be out in this?" Scully asked.  
  
"Oh yeah, we go out in much worse conditions than these" he answered and gave his boat a pat in camaraderie and respect. In an effort to distract his passenger, Mitch--as he preferred to be called--asked, "Did you hear the one about the naked blonde, the poodle, and the large salami?" Scully smirked and informed him that he was the third person to tell her that joke in as many days. Mitch shrugged apologetically and told her that it was the only joke he could come up with at the time.  
  
A few minutes later the engine slowed then cut off completely. Scully went on alert then walked out onto the deck once she realized that they had reached their destination. Through the blanket of fog, she saw the revolving beacon of light from the turret above. Mitch told her that the lighthouse itself was something of a dinosaur. Computers now maintained the lighthouse, and the cottage attached was often rented out for weekends. Scully placed her foot over the bow and onto a pile of slippery rocks, hoping that she could manage the landing without breaking her leg or falling into the water. She successfully made it up the embankment. Mitch waved from the boat, "Go on in. I'll wait."  
  
Scully opened the unlocked door and entered into the cozy room lit entirely by fire light from the big stone hearth on the opposite wall. "Mulder?" she called. "Mulder?" No answer. Again, "Mulder, this isn't funny. Come out." Nothing. Mulder wasn't there. Scully ran to the entrance, "Mitch, there's nobody...." Scully stopped yelling when she rushed out in time to see Mitch's boat pulling away into the thick fog and mist. "Damn-it." Was this Mulder's idea of revenge? Scarier still, was this part of the same plot from those who perpetrated the hoax and possibly employed Mike as well. Scully pulled her gun and began to surveil the house.  
  
The cottage itself was charming. The nautical inspired decor reminded her of her father and some of the bases she'd lived on while growing up. Scully fingered a brass bell and barometer mounted on the wall near the door. Further into the house, there was an overstuffed chair near the fireplace huddled against a navy and white striped loveseat in the small living room. She turned to advance into presumably the bedroom area when she detected something on the brass and glass-topped coffee table. There, a large manila envelope waited. Written in sloppy, red ink, the outer envelope read, "Stolen from the encoded journal of Fox Mulder". Goose bumps broke out on her skin as she lifted the envelope wondering if she should read it. It could be an essential clue to deciphering the conundrum in which she now found herself mired. What if Mulder's in trouble? she rationalized. You owe it to him to read what is in the envelope. Before she could change her mind again, she ripped the tab, wincing slightly at the paper cut incurred as a result of her impatience, and withdrew a single typed sheet of paper.  
  
November 7, 1998  
  
How did everything become so complicated?  
  
Dana Scully came into my life, presumably to tear it apart. In a way, I suppose that she has, although not as intended. The intensity of my feelings for her defies reason. Their magnitude leaves me small and insignificant by comparison. The emotions that I feel for her have become the most powerful force in my life. Put simply, she is the most infuriatingly wonderful pain in the ass that I've ever known.  
  
Somewhere along our twisting journey through prevarication and unprofitable enlightenment, I allowed myself to trust in her, sharing my darkness, relying upon her to lead me through the mazes of life and into the safety and comfort of her presence.  
  
Scully stepped blindly to the sofa, feeling her way down as she leaned upon an armrest for support, never daring for a second to pull her eyes away from the paper held in her trembling hand. She felt the prickle of future tears from behind her eyes as she resumed reading.  
  
Were it completely impossible to believe that my feelings might be returned, I think that I would accept the situation with more ease. There would be no "what-ifs" to fill my days and plague my deepest slumber with visions of her fastened to my side, sated in my arms. Unfortunately, my cursed photographic recollection presses the fleeting moments of clarity to the forefront of my consciousness in which I possess the knowledge that our connection goes beyond partnership, far beyond friendship. I live with the temptation that, were I to curry her favor, romance her, it is possible that she would indeed surrender to me.  
  
However, I must ask myself, if I were to hold her not only as a friend, but also as a lover, would it bring redemption for all that has befallen us, or would it create a pain more intense than either one of us has ever known?  
  
I have delivered precious little to her other than sorrow. She has lost so many parts of her life as a direct result of knowing me. No matter how I have longed to protect her from the evil that draws us as we attempt to understand and to classify it before it destroys us, I have failed. I have absolutely no right to take any more from her than I already have.  
  
Those convictions are not new to me. They bite at my heels until I acknowledge their presence and feed them by unpacking my heart with promises I find impossible to keep. I have never been able to let her go. I'm a selfish bastard-- always have been, but the burden of voluntary sacrifice has apparently been lifted from me now, for I have surely said and done things this evening that will no doubt cause her to revile me. Dana Scully is out of my life. I can no longer hurt her. It is for the best as I might never have mustered the strength to remove myself from her world of my own volition, coward that I am.  
  
The printed words blurred as Scully dashed the tears from her cheeks with a swipe of the back of her hand.  
  
I will keep the memory of my Scully with me forever, this love for her with me forever--perfect and untarnished by time. Better that, than to watch her slip away from my grasp a little at a time as she discovers how much I've taken and how little I have to give. I will take refuge in my solitude for I could never bare to watch as she leaves me, another chapter in her book of regrets entitled, "Fox Mulder".  
  
  
  
Oh God, please make it all right. I can't lose him. Scully dropped the page, and it flitted down to the rug beneath her feet. She began to pace within the confines of the room. Her distress practically caused the stone walls to bulge with tension. She had to get to him. She had to talk to him. Now. After a few seconds, she managed one coherent thought. Phone. She dug her cell phone out of her blue jean's pocket and dialed his number with practiced precision and speed. It rang. "Come on, Mulder" And rang. "Come on, come on..." And rang. Then answered: "The cellular customer you have called, is either out of the service area, or unable to take your call at this moment. Please push the # key if you wish to leave a voice mail message." Scully smacked the phone against her thigh, silently cursing Mulder for deactivating his line.  
  
Scully felt rather than heard the rumbling vibrations from a boat outside. With her ear pressed to the door, she listened as someone ran up the steep stairs towards her. She flattened her back against the wall, drew her weapon, and waited. The door knob twisted slowly. Scully pulled the hammer back. Just as the door began to creak open, a violent gust of wind and horizontal rain sent it slamming open on its hinges, followed quickly by a darkly clad, hooded figure whose hand still clutched the knob. Scully touched the barrel to the back of his head and issued a forceful warning, "Federal Agent! Put your hands where I can see them!" He complied with the command, and waited until she circled to face him before speaking.  
  
"Jeez, Scully, you scared the shit out of me."  
  
"Mulder?" Scully squinted into the rain at Mulder's face. He turned and closed the door, securing it with the dead bolt.  
  
"Yeah, who did you think it was, the Gorden's Fisherman?" He was happy to see that she hadn't been harmed but simultaneously dismayed by the scene in which he had entered. "What's going on? Are you all right?" Mulder shrugged off his rain coat and went to warm himself by the fire.  
  
Scully was confused, "What do you mean, what's going on?" She joined him by the fire.  
  
Perplexed, Mulder posed, "I mean, I get a call from your mother an hour ago saying that you needed me and that I should come to the harbor to find you. I damn near wrecked my car in the rain trying to get here as fast as possible, and when I do, the 'Skipper' takes me on an abbreviated three hour tour in the driving rain out to this lighthouse at your request." Mulder shook the water from his hair and face, his clothes were beyond soaked. After visually inspecting the room and finding no perilous circumstances, Mulder grew impatient. He deserved to know what kind of little game she was playing. "So allow me to repeat, what the hell is going on here?" Scully ran to the door, pried it open just in time to see the last traces of Mitch's boat disappearing in the fog and heavy rain. Mulder glanced past her, "Hey, where's he going? He said he'd wait!"  
  
Scully's patience had just about run out. "Mulder, what kind of a game are you playing?"  
  
"Me? I was going to ask the same of you." Mulder felt that spider tingling sense on the back of his neck. He began to surmise that neither he nor Scully bore the responsibility for the situation at hand.  
  
"My mother called you?!" Mulder's statement finally penetrated her thoughts.  
  
Mulder massaged the knotted muscles at the base of his skull and squinted his eyes closed tightly against the pain residing somewhere beneath his tired lids. "Like I said, I received her call a little more than an hour ago. I was having lunch with Byers about halfway between here and downtown. She said that someone told her that you desperately needed my help. She told me that you might be in danger. I almost hydroplaned my car into a ditch to get here quickly." Mulder, having decided that there was no immediate threat, sat on the floor and began to pry his sopping shoes from his cold feet. "So, I show up... uph!" one final tug sent the dress boot skittering toward the fireplace, "and Mitch tells me that you hired him to bring me out here regarding indispensable information that I needed to see for myself. So what do I need to see for myself?" Mulder made no attempt to mask the ire in his voice. "Have you got a Fiji Mermaid stuffed behind the couch, or is this some kind of payback for last night?"  
  
Scully pursed her lips and shook her head once in disbelief. She pulled a piece of paper from her coat pocket and extended it to Mulder who accepted it with questioning eyes. He read the invitation that someone had sent in his stead. "I didn't send this, Scully."  
  
"No kidding," came the deflated reply. After years of never knowing which versions of the truth to accept as valid and which versions were presented for the express purpose of misleading one or both of them, Scully's skepticism mingled with a healthy sense of paranoia and began shaping the evidence into plausible scenarios which might explain why the two of them were now basically stranded in the middle of nowhere. Mulder's mood had smoothed a bit since his arrival going from hostile to the down- graded state of aggravation. Mulder pitched the crumpled invitation into the fire. He kept his back to her.  
  
Scully wondered if he had written the journal entry that she had viewed earlier, or if it too had been drafted merely to perpetrate this fraud. That line of thought forced her to deal with the unsettling possibility that someone had coerced her mother into participating in this Byzantine exercise. The notion seemed too far-fetched for serious contemplation. "Mulder, if you are bullshitting me, so help me..."  
  
"Hey!" he snapped. "I'm as curious as you are to find who orchestrated this little holiday and why; so back off!!!" Mulder's voice reverberated around the room, filling the small space with its painful cacophony.  
  
Scully shrunk away from the sound in defense. The color drained from her face.  
  
Childhood memories of argumentative snippets of conversations punctuated by an echoing slap across his mothers face temporarily blinded him, as though he himself had been on the receiving end of the blow. In his own voice, Mulder detected the remnants of his father's temper, leaving him nauseated with self loathing. Had he any doubts about his decision to leave the bureau and Scully, they had just been obliterated by the pungent remembrance of his ability to injure Scully and himself were he to continue their affiliation.  
  
Scully didn't move from the corner she had tucked herself into. He couldn't look her in the eye as he spoke. "I'm sorry," was all he could manage.  
  
Scully had to make this right somehow. She understood better than anyone, how Mulder thought. He possessed a talent for internalizing blame. Suddenly, nothing else mattered to her other than quieting his distress. He had to be as emotionally raw as she at this point. "I'm sorry too, Mulder." Her words were a whisper, a deafening whisper that curled around Mulder and pulled his body to hers, his steps involuntarily guided by his soul.  
  
Scully couldn't read the expression on his silhouetted face. The guilt she carried within her breast over the spitefully cruel things that she had said to him the previous night saturated her words as she repeated herself. She had been unable to keep the hitch out of her voice, her tears too close to the surface.  
  
Mulder's heart broke at the sound of her choked sob in the midst of her heartfelt apology. She's sorry that she hurt *you*. He moved to better see her face in the amber light. A trail of salty tears broke free and slipped down her face. He raised his hand to smooth her temple. His fingers tangled in her hair, and his thumb gently stroked the peripheral recess of her cheek. Mulder couldn't find his voice. He looked into Scully's eyes with every transgression etched on his face then cleared his throat in an effort to summon the words. "I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean any of the things that I said." His voice began to disintegrate. "I'm sorry," he repeated in a litany of his laments as he hugged her tightly to his chest. "I didn't mean it. You were right to hate me for the way I treated you."  
  
Scully's fingertips reached up to his mouth, pressing softly against his lips to quiet his admission of sole responsibility. "I don't hate you. I could never hate you. It's o-kay. It's o-kay." She gently rocked him as they stood in their embrace. She tilted her face up to meet his. "Those terrible things that I said last night, Mulder, I didn't mean them. I was angry. I didn't mean what I said." In his eyes, she saw the turbulence of doubt. "Believe me, Mulder. Believe me."  
  
Mulder nodded and wrapped her completely in his arms. He wanted to believe her words with startling vehemence. He wanted to believe more than he had ever wanted to believe anything in his entire life, but a lifetime of vacillation and mistrust prevented him from fully accepting her forgiveness. Still, it felt too good to have his friend back, even if it only lasted a little while. He savored the moment.  
  
Scully sensed the conflict within him. Somehow, she had to let him know how she felt. The fear that she would say the wrong thing, fear that he didn't share her feelings, even the fear that the journal entry hadn't really been his, prevented her from speaking. Her hand traveled from his lips to caress his cheek. Her cool knuckles skimmed the sides of his face before her hands circled around the back of his head, fingers burrowing into his hair as she exerted an almost imperceptible pull in her direction. It was all automatic. Scully lifted to her toes, bringing herself nearer to the mouth she so desperately needed to kiss. If she kissed him, this spell of darkness would end. She knew it.  
  
This would make it right.  
  
Mulder read her eyes and stiffened, breaking away from her and the uncomfortable moment. He couldn't allow her any closer to him than she already was. Impossible, Mulder thought as he flashed forward to the prediction of emotional fall-out in one possible future, one in which he wanted no part. Instead he chose to drop into professional mode for protection. "So," he clapped his hands together, "why don't you try to get some help on the phone, and I'll go outside and look for a boat or something."  
  
A chill raced through Scully when she realized what was happening. It was the same thing that always happened whenever they were brazen enough to slide a cautious foot across the intimacy barrier between friendship and love. She nodded to Mulder in mute agreement. Her brow knitted together as she removed herself mentally from her surroundings. Her mind's eye projected a vision of being on that tight rope again. She had no more strength to balance on the quivering line any longer. The net stretched reassuringly below her, waiting for her fall, but apprehension kept her riveted in place. Then, from somewhere outside of her own person, she heard a whisper. "Tell him, Dana. Tell him before it's too late."  
  
Scully listened to the familiar voice in disbelief and argued, I can't do it, I can't.  
  
"Yes you can, Scardy-cat. Jump."  
  
Scully held onto her insecurities, What would I say? I still don't know what to say.  
  
To Scully's amazement, the journal entry, forgotten on the floor, rustled slightly against her foot. "You know what to say. Jump, Dana. Jump."  
  
Catch me Mulder. Scully spoke softly as if the lack of volume provided some protection. "I'd never leave." She mumbled and looked at the floor.  
  
Mulder had finished donning his shoes and raincoat in preparation for his reconnaissance mission and walked to the door. He'd heard what she said, he simply didn't believe what she had spoken. He turned to her, "What?" he asked in quiet bewilderment.  
  
This was Scully's out, her one chance to remain on the wire. "Jump!" she heard again and physically felt a push from behind, causing her to stumble forward and jarring the truth out of her. "I said that I won't leave you." She was free falling as she waited expectantly for his response.  
  
Mulder still didn't allow himself to believe and asked again. "Scully, what are you saying?  
  
Still plummeting, Scully found that her courage was returning. Why not? She was already speeding towards the ground with nothing to lose. She took his hand in hers, her unguarded emotions displayed plainly for him to see. "I'd never leave you." To Scully's relief, recognition passed over his features; caught, but still unwilling to admit it.  
  
"Scully, I don't know what you are getting at, but..."  
  
"Yes you do." She tentatively slid her other hand up his arm. Her eyes never left his. "Mulder, I know that you are afraid that if you let yourself care for me too much, that I'll leave you someday, and that fear is what's been making you push me away recently. But I'm not going anywhere, I don't want to leave you. I want to stay with you if you'll let me." Scully held her breath while Mulder pieced it together. "Let me."  
  
I'm dreaming again, he reasoned and waited for an alien or some hideous mutant to drag him away from his dream of Scully.  
  
She watched and waited for some acknowledgment of what she had said to appear. One hundred years worth of a few seconds passed, and she was still waiting. "Mulder? Will you let me?" The cold ground loomed closer. Falling. Falling.  
  
"I still don't understand what you're talking about." Mulder disentangled himself from her grasp. His eyes darted around the room for an escape route. Finding no avenue of flight, he settled for verbal confrontation to see him through this crisis. "I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression, but I don't feel that way about you. You and I are just friends and colleagues, right?"  
  
That's it, thought Scully. No more games. She stalked over to the sofa and retrieved the journal entry from the rug. After returning to him, she exclaimed, "You want irrefutable proof, then here you go." She slapped the paper into his palm. "And before you ask, no, I don't have a clue about who stole it or how it got here."  
  
This was it. She would wind up splattered against the cement if he failed to catch her now. The urgency of the moment brought about a clarity of purpose like no other. If this was to be her final act, then so be it. Scully drew in a breath, fortifying her courage and confessed. "Mulder, you *do* know what I'm talking about." He started to interrupt, but she halted his words with her fingers again. "I don't regret our past." He snorted in disbelief. "O-kay, let me rephrase that. Yes, there are things that have happened that I regret, but everyone has things about their pasts that they wish hadn't happened. Our regrets are just stranger than average." The sight of a tiny smile on his lips made her heart leap. "The point is, I want to work with you regardless of those risks. And yes, I have suffered losses since I met you Mulder, but you are not to blame for any of them." He shook his head. "You have saved me, Mulder, so many times; my best friend, the only one that I trust. Don't you know that's more valuable to me than almost anything?"  
  
"I *can't* believe that, Scully." He labored with angst. "There isn't one good reason for you to continue to subject yourself to me. Not one!"  
  
"Yes there is, Mulder. Yes there is. If you don't know by now how much I love you, then you're not half the behavioral psychologist that you claim to be." He looked surprised. She smiled as a feeling of freedom swept through her. Truth had a way of doing that sometimes. "I love you. I have for a long time. There is nothing that you could do that would ever make me want to leave you, *so stop trying*. There is no way in the world that I could ever leave the only man I've ever loved. Trust me and take that leap of faith. I'll catch you. Believe in it, and be happy." Scully had followed her heart and bared her soul. Now she was just waiting around to see if fate was going to make another cameo appearance and help her out a little.  
  
Fate did.  
  
Scully was lifted into the air and swung around in a fierce, almost bruising, yet incredible hug.  
  
"I love you too." Mulder settled her feet back down to Earth again. Her spirit continued to spin with glee. To Scully's joy, he was laughing and crying at the same time. Come to think of it, she was too. "I don't deserve you, Scully, but I love you. I don't want you to leave either. Ever." Both of his hands wound their way to her face. Just as he had done in his dream, he kissed away her tears with the feather soft caresses of his lips brushing across her cheeks. He then pulled back to search her eyes for permission to finish what they had started ages ago.  
  
Scully gazed up at him with sparkling eyes that told him exactly what she wanted at this glorious moment in time. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Her bottom lip caught on her teeth in nervous expectation; an unconscious gesture that Mulder considered to be sexy as hell. Slowly, he descended. His eyes never left hers while he bridged the gap between them. Scully had to force herself not to yank his head down and capture his lips with her own. Slowly, slowly they came together, each aware of the finality of the act. She could feel his breath upon her face. His jaw slanted. Their lips encountered each other's electrical boundaries. Just one more millimeter and they would be home at last. Just one more sec... "DING!"  
  
Scully jerked her head towards the noise as Mulder's mouth went off target and grazed her chin, his frustration complete as he exhaled, "Sonofabitch!"  
  
"Did you hear a bell?" Scully perked an ear in the direction of the kitchen area.  
  
"Scully, you're not supposed to hear bells until *after* we kiss." Scully twisted her lips into a wry grin in response.  
  
Mulder now knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that some powerful force in the universe had a really wierd sense of humor *and* his zip code. Disappointed, he sighed and kissed the top of her head before unholstering his gun and flanking the swinging door. Better be an entire bell choir in there, I'm in the mood for some target practice, he thought gruffly. They silently counted down to three and kicked the door open.  
  
The door swung open with a bang, and the agents advanced with weapons brandished, ready to take on any threat. However, the threat in this instance consisted of an immaculate kitchen; a small table, two chairs, and two place settings; and a kitchen timer. Scully was the first to stand down. "It's o-kay Mulder, I don't think that the toaster is packing heat." Mulder gave her his ha-ha-very-funny look and holstered his gun as well. "Hmm, something smells good." Scully went to investigate. She peeked into the oven astonished by what she saw. Only then did she notice the note taped to the oven timer. "Hey, come here and look at this." She read the message first and surprised Mulder by throwing her head back with laughter; deep, snorting, full-toothed, honest-to-God laughter.  
  
Mulder couldn't have loved her more than he did when he saw her free and unbidden attack of the giggles. Whatever was on the note, he wanted in on the joke. "What does it say?" he smiled, enjoying the rare sight of a giddy Scully. Scully tried repeatedly to tell him but continued to fail to get out more than a syllable or two before another siege of hysterics stole her breath. She was absolutely precious to him like this. He made a mental note to be sure to tickle her later. Scully, still shaking with laughter, clutched her stomach while trying to breath. After a few more seconds, she managed to control herself long enough to hand him the note as she wiped the tears from her eyes.  
  
Mulder read aloud:  
  
Dear Mulder and Scully,  
  
  
  
Don't kill us. We sincerely want you two to be happy, and we came to the conclusion that the only thing that would make you happy would be to open your eyes and to get the two of you to admit your feelings for each other. After all, "If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps." (-W.S.)  
  
  
  
-LGM and Mom  
  
  
  
PS Enjoy dinner on us.  
  
  
  
Mulder twisted his mouth in a half smile thinking to himself that he never would have suspected that Frohike, Byers, and Langly included Shakespeare in there repertoire. He pulled his journal entry and another note from his pocket and offered them to Scully.  
  
Scully had no trouble recognizing the handwriting on the second sheet. Of course not, it had apparently been photocopied from her own journal. She began to read the highlighted portion only to be interrupted by Mulder who recited it from memory. "We stood on the verge of expressing everything that we feel towards each other on that fateful day before Antarctica. Now however, I find myself questioning the reality of that moment with each passing day. I'm afraid that any chance we had of being together remains buried on that frozen continent, abandoned in the ice.  
  
Although you and I have searched tirelessly for some elusive truth, some understanding about the unseen forces that push and pull at our world, we have continued to blind ourselves to the one truth that has been there all along. Is it easier to hide behind the veil of denial, or is it easier to believe that one day, we will be forced to look head long into the brilliance of our feelings for one another, to embrace them, and to never again be forced to return alone to the dark, frigid places within our hearts? For me, for now, it's easier to believe. Whether or not we will ever allow ourselves the opportunity to experience the truth that we deserve so much more than the narrow, self-imposed boundaries governing our lives, remains uncertain. I pray that we will uncover all that we've hidden before it vanishes completely, plunging us both into an existence without the life-giving, warmth of the only truth that ever really mattered."  
  
"When did you...how did you..." Scully stammered. "That wasn't for anyone to see."  
  
"Yeah well, they had no qualms about stealing my private journal either." Mulder touched her shoulder reassuringly.  
  
Scully continued to process, "But if you knew...?"  
  
"Like you said, blinding ourselves to honest emotion has become second nature to us." Mulder kissed her forehead, tapped the two journal entrees in her hands, and pronounced, "'A miracle, here's our own hands against our hearts.'" Scully may not have been schooled at Oxford, but she had seen the video version of "Much Ado About Nothing" and returned his grin.  
  
"Clever, but what was so funny?" Scully pointed to the oven. Mulder arched a suspicious brow and opened the oven door as if he were defusing a bomb. Inside sat a roasting pan. He looked up at Scully, "Sooo?" still not getting the joke.  
  
She lifted the lid to the pan, "Turkey?" he guessed.  
  
"No." Scully's mouth twitched. "It's one of my mother's dishes. It's the breast of a goose on top of a bed of wild rice and cornbread dressing." Scully mentally counted down the seconds that it would take for the ramifications to set in. As predicted, Mulder started to grin knowingly.  
  
"So, what your saying is that," he started to laugh, "your mother and the Lone Gunmen sent us on a wild goose chase?!?" The oven door slammed shut as the pair tried and tried to bring their laughter under control. Scully squeezed his side in solidarity. Boy it felt good to stand atop the ruins of the walls so well maintained previously and laugh until their sides hurt.  
  
Scully placed another bite of dressing into her mouth and smiled. She couldn't remember when she had enjoyed a dinner this much. They exchanged information about the conspiracy aimed at them and came to the conclusions that the Lone Gunmen had obviously bugged their apartments and tapped their phones. Scully said that if she found any cameras hidden in her bedroom or bathroom, that Frohike was going to require that they be surgically removed from his ass. Mulder never doubted for a second that she would make good on her threat. Still, they agreed that overall, the bumbling attempts to bring them together were well intended and somewhat comical in retrospect. Neither one of them wanted to admit how close they'd come to losing each other forever after last night's argument.  
  
Apparently, Margaret Scully's job had been to point Scully in the right direction and to misinform Mulder. Langly, had most likely rerouted their cell phones so that they were unable to contact each other prior to being marooned on this island. The warehouse set-up and trap had to have been constructed to ensure that they were within close proximity to one another, letting nature take it's course. The only question that remained was about how they had come to receive the ghost assignment and how "Mike"-- decidedly another player in the scheme--had breached the banquet's security so easily, yet not appear anywhere in the database. Possibly, an insider at the FBI had been involved, but who? They had so few allies. Skinner's name joined the extremely short list of possible suspects but was immediately eliminated. Skinner had been involved in some strange plots within the Bureau, but help the Lone Gunmen and Scully's mom play matchmaker? Ridiculous. The gunmen most likely forged any of the identification required and the ghost assignment documents.  
  
Mulder finished eating, pushed his plate away a few inches and patted his stomach appreciatively. "Good eats. Hey Scully, is your mom seeing anyone?"  
  
Scully arched one eyebrow, "You're not going to get all Dustin Hoffman on me, are you?"  
  
Mulder gave his empty plate a longing glance and sighed, "That depends, Scully. What have *you* done for me lately?" He winked and flashed a come-hither smile.  
  
Suddenly, it occured to Scully that they weren't playing anymore. She and Mulder were about to, to...She hadn't thought that far ahead until now. She had no idea of how to make good on almost six years of sexual double talk. All right, she had some idea, but not with *him*. It's Mulder. Mulder. Your buddy, remember? she considered as panic seized her by the throat. She returned a tight, nervous smile as she hopped up and began to clear the supper dishes.  
  
Mulder looked on with great interest. She heaped dirty dishes and silverware on her wrist. The cups and plates teetered. An IHOP waitress wouldn't even attempt to carry a stack of dishes piled that high. Unable to help himself, he held up a butter knife, "You missed one." She leaned down to retrieve the utensil and almost lost the load. How she managed to transfer the stack to the sink defied logic and gravity.  
  
Scully lifted the tap and waited until the cold water rushing over her fingertips turned warm. Dish soap bubbled up from the basin, sliding over dishes and over her hands. Her mind kept on repeating the same telegraph: Mulder. Sex. Sex with Mulder. Help? Get a hold of yourself, Dana. It's not like you've never... That argument worsened the situation at hand. By modern standards she was practically virginal. She had been considered by most men to be a challenge; a conquest, and that alone attributed greatly to her need to keep men at arms length. She had slept with two other men in her lifetime, and neither were relationships that she cared to recall. Two. And that had been a long, long time ago.  
  
Did Mulder know that she hadn't slept with anyone since she had met him? Should he know? Given the reputations and appearance of Mulder's prior lovers, and the fact that his taste in videos was "exotic" to say the least, it was logical to assume that he expected experience and a decided lack of inhibition. Would Mulder be disappointed in her? What if things go badly and we are unable to just go back to being friends? she worried. The more she thought about it, the less having a physical relationship with Mulder sounded like a good idea. Maybe she could still bow out gracefully. The last time that we had almost kissed, nothing had changed, right? Liar, she censured herself. Everything changed, we were both just too chicken to admit it until now.  
  
Mulder watched as his impeccably confident and capable partner grew ever distracted by the battle within until he finally decided that it was time for an intervention. He moved undetected to the sink and settled himself behind her. She stiffened after detecting his presence and made unsuccessful, repeated attempts to convince her brain that Mulder wasn't psychic. He moved forward until the entire length of his body pressed against her back. Mulder's arm slid along her side as he shut the water off.  
  
"Want any help with those?" Mulder offered sincerely. Scully realized that, had he not shut the tap off, soapy water would be all over the floor by now. Mulder moved to take a cup from her sudsy hand only to have her reel nervously away from his touch causing her to drop the piece of china against the tiled counter top. The crash not only shattered the cup, it went a long way towards breaking apart any semblance of control she had somehow managed to preserve over her body. Mulder could hardly believe what he was seeing. If she was this freaked out on his behalf, then it was up to him to rectify the situation as soon as possible. Maybe she isn't as interested in you in that way as you thought. The idea immediately went to work on his less than terrific self image. Rather than subject himself to a protracted internal analysis, he decided to test the theory as soon as possible. A lab experiment of sorts was in order.  
  
Scully continued to pick broken pieces of china from the sink, placing them carefully on a paper towel. Warm fingers gathered at the back of her neck and swept her hair aside. "Don't worry," he murmured. "I'll protect you from the fog." Goosebumps raced down her arms and she shivered. Mulder halted her attempt to turn in his direction. Instead, he held her by the shoulder and leaned in to kiss the sensitive skin on the back of her neck. She could feel his hot breath blowing across her skin followed directly by the warmth and softness of his lips. The involuntary tremor and the quiet moan that escaped from somewhere deep within her throat told Mulder all that he needed to know for now. "I think that these can soak for now, don't you?"  
  
Scully nodded mutely and allowed herself to be led by the hand into the living room. She hated the feminine passivity that tempered the behavior of such a previously strong-willed person. She supposed that even a cavewoman would have put up more of a fight. She couldn't even fall back on the old, "I had to go with him. He knocked me out cold with a wooden club," excuse. As a matter of pride for women everywhere, she smiled and boasted resistance. "Well, who says first dates are awkward?" She glanced around the living room and commended, "Great restaurant choice. Now if you'll just have the valet pull my yacht around, I'll be on my way."  
  
Mulder shrugged and shook his head. "I would, but the brochure specifically said dinner AND dancing."  
  
Scully raised her eyebrow and smirked, "Love to, but the band didn't make it in tonight. Will you take a rain check?"  
  
Mulder, not about to be out maneuvered, opened a curtain to a small window cut into the stone. Water pelted the heavy glass. "It's raining, Scully. How about it?" He offered his hand and added a dramatic bow for effect.  
  
"Ah, but Mulder, there's still no music, and we both know how badly I sing. So, I'm afraid you're out of luck." Scully concluded, sarcastic remorse punctuating her less than serious decline.  
  
She should have known better. When she saw the triumphant glint in his eyes, she *knew* she should have known better. "Not that I wouldn't love a rebroadcast of your concert in the pines--unplugged, but in this case, it won't be necessary. Nope, our conspirators apparently thought of everything." Mulder ducked into the bedroom and returned with a small tape deck complete with a note attached that read, "Play Me." "Curiouser and curiouser, don't you think, Alice?"  
  
"I suppose, Tweedle-Dumb. What's on it?" Scully interjected, genuinely intrigued at this point.  
  
"No idea. Hopefully you can dance to it though." Mulder pressed the play button and snagged Scully by the waist, yanking her into his arms as the music began.  
  
Four solitary chords spilled from the speaker, filling the room with their familiar angst. The melody drifted into the mix carried by the lilting voice of Sarah McLachlan. Scully identified the song as the same tune that they had been caught up together in at the banquet. "Hey, isn't this the same..."  
  
Mulder nodded and tenderly shushed further inquiry by pulling Scully firmly against his chest as they swayed to the music. The lyrics washed over the couple, and they listened reverently to the words that defined what their lives apart had been and what could belong to each of them were they to banish their fear and learn to trust in the connection between them that struggled so valiantly for recognition and surrender.  
  
And Sarah sang:  
  
  
  
Spend all your time waiting for that second chance, for a break that will make it o-kay.  
  
There's always some reason to feel not good enough, and it's hard at the end of the day.  
  
I need some distraction, oh some beautiful release, as memories seep from my veins.  
  
Let me be empty, oh and weightless and maybe, we'll find some peace tonight.  
  
  
  
In the arms of the angel.  
  
Far away from here.  
  
From this dark, cold hotel room,  
  
And the endlessness that you feel.  
  
You are pulled from the wreckage,  
  
of your silent reverie.  
  
You're in the arms of the angel.  
  
May you find some comfort here.  
  
Scully felt a single tear drop rolling down her face. The fact that it wasn't one of her own prompted her to cling more tightly to Mulder, smoothing her hands along his back as the song continued.  
  
So tired of the straight line, and everywhere you turn, there's vultures and thieves at your back.  
  
The storm keeps on twisting, you keep on building the lies that you make up for all that you lack.  
  
It don't make no difference. Escape one last time. It's easier to believe,  
  
In this sweet madness, oh in this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees.  
  
  
  
In the arms of the angel.  
  
Far away from here.  
  
From this dark, cold hotel room,  
  
And the endlessness that you feel.  
  
You are pulled from the wreckage,  
  
of your silent reverie.  
  
You're in the arms of the angel.  
  
May you find some comfort here.  
  
  
  
You're in the arms of the angel.  
  
May you find some comfort here.  
  
  
  
The song played out and another selection began. Mulder needed distance. He needed to objectify the encounter. It wasn't good to feel so exposed. How could a perfect stranger write his secrets. Had the song not impacted him so profoundly, he might have noticed that his partner had also experienced an epiphany of her own. So instead of taking comfort in their shared state, Mulder retreated into his verbose comfort zone. "Gotta give them credit for finding the same song that we danced to at the dinner last night. Probably a pretty new tune also. I've never heard it before, have you? If I was a fatalist, I'd probably be fairly spooked-if you'll pardon the expression-by now..."  
  
Scully could actually see Mulder picking up the bricks and cementing them into place. Given this display, it became clear to her that Mulder had as many fears, if not more so, as she about crossing the intimacy barrier. She now saw that it made no difference whether those fears were about the emotional or physical aspects of a relationship. Scary stuff was scary stuff. Discovering that Mulder had his own case of the nerves regarding the next logical step in their relationship released her from her own anxiety and gave her the courage to help Mulder conquer his demons. "Mulder?" she interrupted.  
  
He continued to spew useless statistics undeterred. "For example, there is a tribe in the Malaysian Mountains that believe that music transcends time, that it calls to us not only from the past, but also from the future. To ignore its presence..."  
  
"Mullllll-Derrrrr" She sang. He continued. "Oh Mulllll-Derrrrr."  
  
He scowled, "I'm making a point here, Scully. Anyway, as I was saying..."  
  
"Mulder." She took his face in her hands. "Any idea about when you plan to shut up and kiss me?"  
  
That did it. "Huh?"  
  
Scully wound both arms around his neck, dragging his face closer to hers. "I said, shut up and kiss m..."  
  
This wasn't a dream. There were no bells, bees, or clumsy agents falling over backwards to spoil this kiss. No, this wasn't even a practice drill from the emergency kiss broadcast channel. After long, frustrating years in the making, this moment was worth it.  
  
Definitely worth it, they thought in tandem--the last coherent thought that either was likely to conjure once reality set in, and the dream of all that had been too long denied came to life in the most exquisite of ways.  
  
Mulder captured her lips with his fully, pulling her body into his with their insistent tug. His hungry mouth consumed hers as he deepened the kiss. Scully welcomed the onslaught, responding to his fervor with her own demand. Her lips parted hesitantly beneath his, giving him access to the soft recesses of her mouth. His tongue tasted her lips, and she sighed. No longer satisfied with his superficial exploration, Mulder plunged his way into her mouth, coaxing her tongue to join his in an ancient mating dance carried instinctively within us all.  
  
Limbs beginning to weaken, Scully relied heavily on Mulder's strong arms to hold her up. She broke contact long enough to trail moist, tiny kisses across his jaw and down his throat, inhaling the heady musk scent of his skin as she went. A deep growl emanated from his chest as he tilted his head to one side giving her free reign in her assault on his senses before turning her momentary advantage. Scully felt the earth roll beneath her faltering knees when he planted his lips on the back of her neck. He varied the attack by alternately nipping at her flesh with his teeth then running his tongue across the nape. Scully clung to him tightly as the thin ribbon of strength holding her upright came undone, falling slack, lapsing into loose folds of fabric helplessly heaped upon the floor. Her body sagged against his until the rapid percussion of his heart pounding in her ear infused her with the energy to resume her voyage of discovery.  
  
More. He needed more. Mulder's skin cried out to be rid of the constricting clothing that separated them. He had often thought of what it would be like to slowly undress his partner. In his fantasies, he had lightly pulled the hem of her shirt up, his hands lingering on her warm skin as he drank in the sight of her, all the while driving her mad with his practiced patience. Like a splendid present he would slowly unwrap, he would cherish her body with his hands and lips as he peeled away each layer of her clothing. His dream Scully would look up at him, eyes glassy with burgeoning passion, almost pleading for him to hurry, which of course, he wouldn't. In his mind, his seduction was smooth, controlled, and excruciatingly wonderful. Now that the blessed moment had arrived, controlled was the last thing he was.  
  
Unwilling to break their kiss, their hands fumbled blindly for buttons, hooks, buckles and any other obstacles separating their greedy bodies. Mulder jerked Scully's sweater up swiftly, shrouding her head as he tried to pull it free, then stopped. He gave a frustrated grunt having realized that his wristwatch had snagged the knitted material. He heard a muffled, "What's wrong?" from Scully while he attempted to wrest the tangled watch loose. Giving up, he snapped the band from his arm and threw it on the floor along with its cable-knit captor. Having been freed from her woolen prison, Scully continued to pry apart the buttons of his dress shirt at a frenzied pace, pushing it aside before pressing her bare flesh against his. Mulder used the opportunity to nuzzle her ear as he tried repeatedly to unhook her bra. His fingers pinched at the back strap, doubling the elastic over onto itself in order to slide the hooks from the ayes. Scully, preoccupied with his belt buckle and the feel of his chest hair against her cheek, didn't notice his unsuccessful efforts for awhile. Once she figured out what he was trying to do, she took his head in her hands, smiled into his mouth and murmured, "front."  
  
"I knew that," he teased. "I was just seeing if you were paying attention." His head bent to look at his hands followed shortly thereafter by the snap of the clasp.  
  
Still grinning from his retort, Scully hadn't prepared herself for the intense electrical sensation brought on by the closing of his fingers upon her uncovered breast. She sucked in a cool breath as her head pitched backwards involuntarily. Much better without the coat, she decided. "You definitely have my attention, Mulder." came her ragged reply.  
  
Pleased with himself, Mulder focused his energy on her blue jeans. Luckily, he had no trouble with the fasteners and tugged the snug denim down her legs with all due haste. Now he would be able to fulfill his fantasies unencumbered. The last thing that he expected to see when he returned his gaze to her face was her trademarked raised brow and lips pursed in amusement. What now? He wondered apprehensively.  
  
Reading his expression, she offered a wry grin and pointed down at her legs. Mulder followed her gaze then hung his head in defeat. "It works best if you take the shoes off *first*."  
  
So much for smooth, he thought tersely. Weighing his options, he decided that his best bet was to herd her into the bedroom, hoping that his technique would benefit from a horizontal, gravity-lessened environment. Turning her towards the darkened bedroom door, he gave her a little shove and barked, "Move." Scully shuffled forward in penguin-like fashion. Mulder passed her by in search of a light switch.  
  
Scully heard a loud crash followed by a string of muttered expletives and flipped on the light. Having forgotten the two overnight bags in the middle of the room, Mulder had tripped and now lay sprawled on the floor. Refusing to give in to the rediculousness of the moment, Mulder glowered at the luggage as he stood, then tossed the bags into a nearby closet. When he turned around, he saw his smart-ass partner with her hands clasped to her chest, smiling up at him sweetly. "Gee Mulder, this is exactly how I've always pictured it!"  
  
He smiled dangerously and crooked his index finger in her direction. The mirth in his eyes sparkled as he started towards her. "Come here, you."  
  
Uh-oh, thought Scully ruefully, recognizing his mischievous expression, she started to back away, hands up in surrender. "Now Mulder," she inched further away, "don't do anything that you might regre...Ahh!" She shrieked as he bounded across the room, cornering her. Mulder loomed ever closer. Scully jigged left then right only to be caught in his lightning fast arms. She squirmed in a half-hearted effort to break free.  
  
"That's it!" Mulder proclaimed. "No more Mr. nice guy." He knelt briefly before hoisting her onto his shoulder. The effort brought forth a chain of giggles from his cargo. "That's enough out of you," he commanded in jest and smacked her playfully on the butt for good measure, causing another outburst of laughter. Mulder dumped her like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the big brass bed. "All right, now where was I?"  
  
Scully quickly pried her sneakers from her feet, still smiling as Mulder yanked her jeans the rest of the way off. Her laughter died abruptly when she looked up into Mulder's eyes. He was staring at her intensely. Scully suddenly felt too exposed, wishing for a sheet or the cover of darkness to relieve her embarrassment. She averted her eyes, praying that he would say or do something to reassure her of his attraction. She was fit, not a bad little body really, just not the luscious type she was certain were to his liking. How long is he just going to stare at me like that? inquired the most unsure portion of her psyche. Beginning to feel humiliation, she snapped him out of his trance. "Mulder?" she called in a voice far too tentative to have come from her mouth. He blinked twice as if waking from a dream, and a beautiful smile began to curl on his lips. Scully could hardly believe the love and desire on his handsome face was for her.  
  
"Scully." Her name sounded like a soft caress carried from his heart to hers by the hoarse whisper of his voice. She reached for him to join her, noting with astonishment that his hand was shaking when she clasped his fingers. The knowledge that she could make him actually tremble with need made her feel drunk with power, and every doubt she'd ever had about their relationship simply melted away.  
  
The world itself melted away.  
  
The storm outside continued to rage against the turbulent sea, while inside, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully rose and fell, rolled and pitched, flowed and crashed together in a tempest of their own making. The only calm came in the eye of the storm.  
  
Mulder stilled, pulling away from her slightly. He reverently stroked her cheek, and with awe in his eyes and love in his heart, he offered a silent vow of his devotion to her. Scully felt overwhelmed with emotion and answered him with her own forever look. The warmth of pure joy showered over them as they acknowledged the commitment that they were making to one another, and then they began to swirl again, caught up in the ever increasing squalls of passion. Once spent, the storm subsided, its furious waves gave way to a peaceful tide filling their souls with contentment under the luminescence of a moon lit sky.  
  
Scully's head fell back against Mulder's arm in sated exhaustion. He pushed a damp tendril of hair from her forehead and twisted his head to drop a kiss upon her brow. As soon as her oxygen deprived lungs could manage, she sighed in accolade, "Oh. My."  
  
"God." Mulder finished for her. He kissed her temple again and hauled her closer to his side. With eyes closed dreamily, Mulder grinned and said, "Scully?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I think I just saw lights in the sky."  
  
"Really?" She added. "Me too."  
  
"Now there's a first." He replied dryly. "If I'd known that this was the only way to ever get you to agree with me, I would have seduced you sooner. Come to think of it, Scully, why didn't we do this years ago?"  
  
Scully rolled over onto his chest and propped her head upon her forearms. Looking down at him happily, she answered honestly, "Because you and I are very, very stupid people. That's why."  
  
"Good point." Mulder concluded. Having pulled the covers around them, he kissed her sweetly, and the couple drifted off to sleep.  
  
Scully, the first to awaken, opened her eyes reluctantly to the iridescent pink and orange light streaming in from the arched window behind the bed. Cold, she thought and then looked over at her sleeping partner understanding why. At some point during the night, he had flipped over onto his stomach taking the covers with him. Scully rolled her eyes and thought, and so it begins. She knew that she could now look forward to razor stubble and toothpaste globs in her bathroom sink, sunflower seed husks sprinkled across her coffee table, and smelly, abandoned jogging shoes on her living room floor. Still, it was a small price to pay for the spine-shattering experience that was last night and for the companionship and love yet to come.  
  
She pushed herself silently up from the mattress, and was caught off guard by the splendor of the sunrise across the bay. Dawn stretched its blazing fingers across the sky as it shook the last vestiges of sleep from the horizon with the promise of another day and all of the possibilities that it possessed. Scully felt as though she had begun anew as well. The dark shroud of loneliness brought on by too much self-reliance and doubt had been cast off. The shimmer of hope blinded her, but after a moment, her eyes adjusted to its intensity, and she began to view the world through its rosy hue of bliss.  
  
She would have liked nothing better than to stand at the window and watch the rising sun, but the chill in her hands and feet protested. Having stoked the fire in the living room, turned up the radiator, and donned Mulder's discarded dress shirt, she turned her search to the procurement of a pair of socks.  
  
She remembered the overnight bags in the closet and headed in that direction. Damn, she groused, top shelf. Scully raised up on her toes and swiped for the handle. Not even close. Another swipe. Jump. Swipe. Grumble. Not about to give up, Scully continued her struggle unaware that Mulder had rolled to the foot of the bed and was enjoying the show immensely. Each time she reared up, she exposed a little more thigh from under the tail of his white shirt. He licked his lips appreciatively and made a mental note that, from now on, he would gladly let her borrow anything in his wardrobe. As she started to pull herself up to the shelf with her arms, the shirt tale rose higher and higher until satisfying his curiosity about what she didn't have on underneath. He must have given himself away, because she was now pinning him with her eyes. "You know, Mulder, I'm beginning to believe that you keep putting things where you know I can't reach them on purpose."  
  
Mulder, opting not to play dumb, shrugged and flashed her a devilish grin as evidence of his remorseless guilt. Stacking her hands on her hips, Scully pretended to be upset only to falter at the sight of her bare- chested partner and his sexy smile. It ought to be illegal to look that good first thing in the morning, she contemplated half dazed. His only concession to modesty was the white sheet gathered low across his hips. Mesmerized, she had to force herself to tear her fixated gaze from his broad shoulders and the well-defined muscles of his trunk. Feeling a rush of physical awareness, she channeled her adrenal-heightened energy back to the closet, and was rewarded for her efforts by the thump of canvass on her head.  
  
A note pinned to the strap, written in her mother's handwriting informed her that the boat would pick them up at two o'clock. On top of her clothing, sat a string of colored condoms, causing her to turn three shades of red. She held them up for Mulder to see, shaking her head, eyes wide in disbelief, "My catholic mother."  
  
"Remind me to send your mom some flowers when we get back."  
  
"I'll do that." she dead-panned. Tucking them back into the bag, Scully smiled the smallest of smiles to herself as she remembered the previous night. Mulder had seemed distracted in his kiss, and she had wondered why until his arm had come up from the bedside with a wallet in his hand. A well-worn foil packet had tumbled onto the bed, and she had grabbed it before he could recover the fumble. Looking down at her sheepishly, he'd inquired what she wanted to do regarding protection. Some women would have probably found the question embarrassing and extremely unromantic. For Scully however, it spoke of care and respect. Squinting in the lamplight, she'd made out that the package was a little over a year past its expiration date which secretly thrilled her. Conceding internally that sadly, pregnancy was not an issue and that she had personally signed off on his two most recent physicals, she'd looked at the condom in her hand and back to Mulder. "Anything I need to be aware of?" she'd asked gently in a non-accusatory tone.  
  
"Only that you ruined my attraction for other women a long time ago." He had whispered, basking in the delight beaming from her face as she had pitched the packet over her shoulder then kissed him soundly.  
  
Sitting cross-legged on the floor with her bag in her lap, she found a thick pair of socks at the bottom. Her withdrawing fingers brushed slippery, cool folds of satin. She hoisted the garment to the top of the stack. Recognition turned her skin to goose flesh and the color drained from her face as she thought back to her dream, her mother's words, the sound of Melissa's voice admonishing her for her cowardice, and the unseen but truly felt push in Mulder's direction yesterday. Her voice shook a little, "Mulder, do you believe in ghosts?"  
  
"Oooh baby, you know the paranormal gets me all hot and bothered."  
  
"I'm serious."  
  
Although she kept her back to him, he heard a beat of vulnerability in her tone and straightened. "Sure. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Promise not to laugh?"  
  
He shrugged in agreement, "Promise."  
  
"I know this sounds nuts, but I've felt a presence during the past couple days." She hesitated before saying, "Missy's presence." She paused. No laughter. "Mom sounded just like her at lunch yesterday, and last night, I could have sworn she was here, talking to me, trying to shame me out of backing down when you started to head for the door. Mulder," she called over her shoulder, "I, uh, she pushed me towards you just like she used to shove me in Sister Mary's class when she wanted to get me into trouble." Scully stroked something in her lap. "I'm certifiable, right? I mean, I think that a part of me almost believes that she was involved in this little melodrama of ours."  
  
Mulder was tempted to start looking under the bed for the empty pod. Her words were disconcerting, not because he doubted the possibility of such an entity, but because she seldom accepted concepts like the one she had just volunteered without a heaping serving of skepticism. Scientific Scully needed proof, hard data before considering the extreme. Intrigued, he prompted, "Have you had that feeling about her before yesterday?"  
  
She nodded mutely, uncertain whether or not to continue. She studied the green satin in her lap and spoke softly, "Yes." She cleared her throat nervously. "After that terrible fight, I felt so drained and just fell into bed. Then, I uh, started to dream, um, about you."  
  
The hairs on the back of Mulder's head stood on end. "Go on."  
  
"I went over to your apartment and told you how sorry I was, and then you told me that you loved me. I felt so light, like I was flying. When I woke up, I could still feel your lips on mine. Absolutely convinced that the dream had really happened, I jumped up and started to put my clothes on. Then I realized that it had only been a dream." Scully waited for reassurance that she wasn't cracking up.  
  
"What were you wearing?"  
  
Thinking that her entire admission had just been reduced to a trivial running gag between them, she nodded impatiently at his apparent insincerity. "You'll love this part," she began sarcastically. "After I had been released from the hospital following my abduction, Missy had given me a nightgown, a sexy one. She said that I'd be needing it. I dismissed her inference, but then she got the look. You know which one I mean. Anyway, she told me that we were soul mates and to accept it. Silly, I know." She added for his benefit, embarrassed having recounted something so preposterous. Better to turn it into a joke and be done with it.  
  
Mulder sat up on the edge of the bed, acutely aware of his own throbbing heartbeat. "Scully. Your hair was damp. The gown was short, dark green satin. It had a row of embroidery across the bodice. You woke up at 2:35 a.m. Am I right?" She didn't answer. "I'm right, aren't I?"  
  
Scully stood on unsteady legs and turned around slowly. She held the gown against her torso for Mulder to see. They just stood there speechless for several minutes. Scully finally broke the charged silence. "My mother found this in the bottom of a locked drawer in my dresser. I've never worn it."  
  
"Yes you have, Scully. I was there."  
  
The conspiracy of light had indeed been played out on a much larger scale then anyone had ever suspected.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
"He knows." Scully breathed as she pushed the elevator button.  
  
"How could he know?" Mulder chided.  
  
"I don't know how, Mulder, but he does. Why else would he have requested this meeting on a Tuesday at 5:30 p.m.  
  
Mulder looked down at her affectionately and whispered. "Honestly Scully, we've been together for less than a week, and so far you've already confessed to seeing lights in the sky, ghosts, and now you're becoming almost as paranoid as I am." He eyed her speculatively, "What's next? Elvis mania?"  
  
"Bite me, Mulder," she said under her breath.  
  
He bent to her ear, "Where do ya want me to bite you this time?"  
  
The elevator doors parted and McKinze stepped into the car. He gave the cursory, "How's it going?" Mulder nodded his hello. From the back of the elevator, McKinze witnessed the sidelong glance between the other two agents and the faint bloom of a blush on Agent Scully's pretty face. He smiled knowingly. Working in the violent crimes division, he seldom had the opportunity to appreciate any of the good in the world. Rather than divulge this revelation to his crude partner, Jacobs--who would feel compelled to scandalize the information for his own gain, McKinze decided instead to keep their secret. He looked up at the stupid grin on Fox Mulder's face and decided to offer his discretion as a gift to the lucky bastard in front of him.  
  
*****  
  
Assistant Director Walter Skinner exhaled heavily and tilted his chair back a fraction before rubbing the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to release the tension that dogged him constantly. He thought back on the meeting he had just had with Mulder and Dana and shook his head in bewilderment. Glad they were still talking to one another after last week's manipulations and even more glad that he hadn't been caught interfering, he had felt at first as though he had dodged a bullet. He was more than willing to look the other way regarding the no fraternization between partners rule, but he'd be a lot more comfortable if the fact that they were in love or whatever wasn't so blatantly obvious.  
  
Agent Scully at least presented the semblance of propriety, a good poker face and all that, but Mulder gave the game away without ever saying a word. Smiling. Agent Mulder couldn't stop smiling to save his life. A happy Mulder was, well, spooky.  
  
Skinner prayed that Mulder would get his act together and soon. In the meantime, he had just sent them on mandatory vacation leave for three weeks. Neither had taken time off in well over a year with the exception of the occasional hospital stay. Bureau policy encouraged employees to take their allotted paid time off each year as it had been shown to decrease burn-out and increase productivity. It provided a good excuse to get them out of the Hoover building anyway. The hope that they would return a little less cow-eyed and a lot more sober motivated Skinner to act in their best interests. Shaking his head, he thought with trepidation, This is the kind of aggravation I get for not refusing to go along with this cockamamie plan in the first place. He opened the top drawer of his desk and retrieved another antacid tablet before thinking derisively, Oh well, at least I know which way to place my bet if I ever decide to take up gambling.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
He should have been mad as hell.  
  
Mulder had returned home Sunday night to discover that he'd been robbed. He drew his gun and made his way cautiously around the apartment. In the middle of talking to the emergency operator, he'd started to realize that whoever had infringed upon his property had done so in a meticulously selective manner. He apologized then hung up on the overworked and grouchy dispatcher. Shelves had been dusted, books straightened, and he could actually see his bed. That had been the biggest shocker. Boxes and boxes of videos and magazines were missing along with his mangled bicycle frame. New sheets and a comforter replaced his dingy bedding. In addition to those oddities, the floor had been cleaned and the bathroom was no longer a refuge for stray hairs, towel lint, and microbes of all varieties. You didn't have to be a FBI profiler to name the most likely suspects. A brief call to Frohike had assured him that his treasures were safe and sound at the Gunmen's headquarters, and that the guys had boxed up and cleared away all of the incriminating porn prior to Maggie's extraordinary cleaning efforts.  
  
That night, he had flipped and flopped while trying to get comfortable in his new sheets for an hour or more. What good is a bed without a Scully? He'd asked himself on the way to his battered and beloved leather sofa. Still, something niggled at his brain, preventing him from nodding off to dreamland. And then it hit him. How had the Lone Gunmen and Scully's mom paid for the charters, the remote cottage, the new stuff in his apartment, and all of the other sundries required to carry out their plans? He had sat up and started to punch numbers in rapid succession into his cell phone in the dark, pausing to listen to the next menu item. Grimly, he had deducted the worst. His credit card; they had used his credit card numbers for everything.  
  
Yep, he should have been mad as hell, but he wasn't.  
  
Mulder hovered above the alabaster shoulder of the pretty red-head asleep on his new sheets, and busied himself with a new game. So far, he had identified two constellations as he mentally played connect the dots with Scully's freckles. She stirred for an instant then snuggled down deeper into slumber.  
  
Despite the fortitude of his relationship with Scully, he found himself feeling a little paranoid. He didn't feel as though he truly deserved her. There had to be some catch. However, after four days of speculation, he hadn't come up with anything; no catch, no strings, no fine print, just the best gift he had ever received. He promised to strive to become worthy of this special lady cuddled against him. I'm one lucky bastard, thought Fox Mulder for the first time in his life.  
  
He decided that the comforter tucked beneath Scully's nose had been money well spent. Besides, he had inherited his father's estate. Mulder had previously convinced himself that it was most likely comprised of hush money and vowed to only spend the festering fortune on expenses directly related to his crusade. Until now, that multiplying horde of cash had never bought one single moment of happiness. He rationalized that, with all of the shit he'd been through, he had earned the right to blow a little of that money. Mulder resolved to take Scully on a real vacation. She'd more than earned the right to a little pampering as well.  
  
That settled, he resumed his game, spotting the little dipper just above her ear. He wished that he could see underneath the stray lock of copper upon her cheek. Maybe he could move it carefully as not to wake her. He tweezed and lifted the strand, repositioning it behind her ear. Ah-ha! It is the little dipper! Now, if I can just find Ursa Minor, he puzzled.  
  
Scully opened one eye to look at Mulder. "What are you doing?" she mumbled into the mattress.  
  
"Admiring."  
  
"Oh brother," she huffed as she pulled the digital numbers of the alarm clock into focus. It read 4:32 p.m. She lurched up into sitting holding the sheet to her chest. "Four-thirty?! How did I oversleep so much? I was sure I set the clock."  
  
They had come over to Mulder's apartment at eleven o'clock that morning on the pretense of packing. She'd made the crucial mistake of following him into the bedroom and taking a test bounce on the soft, ivory covered bed. She had commented on his fancy new digs then stilled having seen the lust in his eyes. Brace for impact, she'd thought with chagrin. As he tackled her onto the bed, she had told him that he was going to put her in the hospital. He had returned that it wouldn't have been for the first time.  
  
"You looked tired." Mulder admitted. When Mulder replayed the past five days in his head, he thought that it was no wonder that she was exhausted. A triathlete would have collapsed by now if confronted by the grueling pace they'd been setting. There was the lighthouse. Then there was Scully's bedroom, hallway, tub, kitchen counter, and almost once in a parking garage--damn security guard. After all, they had six years of catching up to do. "You're on vacation, remember?"  
  
"How could I forget?" She started to recline once more and then froze half way, concern entrenched across her forehead. "We are going to have to start being more careful, you know." She settled back into his arms before resuming her lecture. "I can't believe that you told Skinner you were planning to spend your holiday fly fishing amidst the naked wilderness!"  
  
"I can't believe you kicked me under the table," he retorted with mock irritation.  
  
Changing the subject completely, she posed, "So what am I supposed to call you now?"  
  
Confused, Mulder countered, "Huh?"  
  
Scully dipped her head shyly, "Do I call you Fox now like your other..." She trailed off having not intended to say what she had begun to say.  
  
Mulder caught her chin and kissed the tip of her nose, "Never like the others," he stated emphatically, and she smiled. "I guess you can call me Fox if you really want to, but I think I'd miss the way you say 'Mulder'"  
  
"Well then, Mulder," she ran her index finger down the length of his trunk and back again before asking coyly, "Do you think that you could call me Dana sometimes when we're alone?"  
  
So that's what this is about, he mused. He found her coquettish presentation unsettling. Scully had always been too direct a person to resort to feminine tactics such as these. "But I like 'Scully'," he pouted.  
  
"Dana, Mulder. Dana," she argued.  
  
"I'm sorry, Scully. Did you say something?" he teased with a hand cupped around his ear.  
  
"Dan-na. D.A.N.A. Dan-na. Repeat after me."  
  
"I'm afraid I can't hear a word you're saying, *Scully*."  
  
Fine, she could play too. "Never mind Fox William. It wasn't important. Do you want to go get something to eat, Fox William? What would you like on your pizza, Fox William?"  
  
She scooted to the side of the bed and started to rise before being caught by the waist and trapped beneath her partner who glared menacingly at her. "I'd lay off the 'Fox William' thing if I were you."  
  
Dana Katherine Scully hadn't made it through medical school and the FBI academy by kowtowing to threats. "Foxwilliamfoxwilliamfoxwilliam," she sang childishly.  
  
The tickle fight that followed was of epic proportions. Shrieks, giggles, and cries for mercy reverberated around the room. In the aftermath, lay two heaving lovers atop a bundle of pillows and tangled blankets.  
  
Still a little breathless, Mulder asked, "You know what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I love you."  
  
She steamrollered across him until she met his eyes, "I love you too." ("foxwilliam") she muttered into his chest. "I bet we're driving your neighbor nuts." Scully advanced the rest of the way to his neck where she went back to work on the tastefully small hickey just above Mulder's collarbone. He really liked that spot and moaned his appreciation. She raised a measuring gaze and added, "I sure hope that no one can hear us."  
  
As they began to kiss once again at a delectable and leisurely pace, neither one of them had the slightest clue that a tiny, button-shaped listening device had slipped from somewhere behind the head board, becoming lodged between the bed frame and the mattress.  
  
*****  
  
"Who was on the phone?" inquired Langly from his position on the floor as he rifled through the stack of cardboard boxes.  
  
Byers called out from the kitchen, "That was Maggie. She wanted to invite us over for Thanksgiving this year."  
  
Frohike sounded back, "That's nice of her. You can really tell where Scully gets her class."  
  
Langly selected the two most worn-looking tape boxes, hoping that their abused appearance denoted Mulder's choicest picks. He stood studying the two video tapes in his hands thoughtfully. He scratched his chin in consideration before deciding to submit his dilemma to a vote. "Hey guys, what do you think; 'Hot Babes in Toy Land' or 'An Officer and a Genital'?"  
  
Byers and Frohike answered in unison, "Babes."  
  
Having set the videos on the crumb-covered coffee table constructed of four cinder blocks and a piece of sheet metal, Langly called, "Hey Byers, your cousin Mike is a major creep. Did you listen to his answering machine message yesterday?"  
  
"Yeah, I know. I sent him a check to cover his fee, dry cleaning expenses, and the bonus he insisted upon. Two years of community theater and the guy thinks that he's some kind of super star." Byers grimaced as he recalled Mike's sleazy voice on the recorder referring to Scully as a nice piece of ass and asking to let him know when she dumped that looser, Mulder.  
  
Frohike started towards the VCR when a blinking light caught his eye, "Why is this light still blinking?" Not waiting for a reply, Frohike touched the audio output button on the receiver, turned up the volume and heard the voices of Scully and Mulder laughing, shouting and squealing, and laughing in addition to the syncopated squeaking of springs and the periodic thud of a pillow hitting a wall. "Come over here." Byers popped his head out of the kitchen and Langly approached. "You guys told me that you got rid of all of the surveillance equipment in their apartments.  
  
"I did," Byers answered defensively on his way to the console.  
  
Langly stammered and pushed up his glasses. "Um, I got all but one."  
  
Frohike and Byers exchanged a disappointed look. "Which one?" asked Frohike.  
  
"Well, I couldn't really get into Mulder's bedroom before we cleared it, so I just sort-of tossed it in like a grenade and couldn't find it when I went back." Langly's apologetic body language perked up however when the seed of an idea began to take root in his mind. Reaching for the panel, he turned the volume up just in time to hear the leavings of a conversation dissipating into the sounds of carnal rapture.  
  
Frohike sighed heavily and turned off the unit. Byers, the most sensitive of the trio, sympathized for his friend's grief over his dream girlfriend. He clapped the shorter man on the shoulder and consoled, "You did a beautiful thing, man." Frohike nodded in resignation-still not entirely certain why he and Maggie Scully had decided to start to play matchmaker two weeks ago. The idea had just come to him in a dream or something, and he had felt compelled to act on it-go figure. Frohike sighed again, forcing Byers to defuse the tension. "So, you think Mulder is ever going to want his stuff back?"  
  
Frohike gave the receiver one parting glance and answered, "Would you?"  
  
No way, thought Byers visually asking Langly for help in distracting their sorrowful comrade.  
  
"Hey Frohike, you cue the tape, and I'll grab the beer." Langly gave Frohike a tap in the direction of the television set. "Popcorn?" he requested of Byers.  
  
"I'm on it," answered Byers before ducking back into the kitchen.  
  
Ten minutes later, the Gunmen parked themselves in front of the first of their lifetime supply of smut. Frohike took a long swig from his brew and propped his feet on the coffee table. A short time later, he found himself snorting a sardonic chuckle when the business-attired, red-headed, hotel manager in the film entered a hotel room, commenting that it was *so* hot before stripping off her blazer and leaning over the faulty air conditioner just as Luke, the tall, dark and brooding maintenance supervisor known for being good with his hands entered the room and stepped up behind the perspiring woman.  
  
*****  
  
Yep, it was pretty much a happy ending for everyone.  
  
  
  
**************************************************************************** ****************  
  
  
  
  
  
Acknowledgments:  
  
This story is dedicated to my terrific husband who had actually been forced to wear the matching "disco peach" tie and cummerbund in 1988 and is still around today. Thank you for the unconditional support, the editorial talents, and the romantic inspiration.  
  
  
  
These are the wonderful people who helped me to whip this little ditty into shape:  
  
Carl (Carl-o-saurus)  
  
Frances/Mom (the Grammarian-Librarian)  
  
Joanie (England's finest)  
  
Heather (I wish *I* was sleeping with Mulder!)  
  
Deborah-Dawn (Patron saint of all lost pennies)  
  
***You guys are the best!!!!!!!  
  
I would also like to recognize William Shakespeare who is still packing in the crowds centuries later, Sarah McLachlan whose song, "Angel" got me through the many times that I was ready to chuck this project in favor of something more productive, those who have created a show appealing enough to compel us to write these things in the first place, and the many extremely talented fan-fic writers who have provided me with hours of splendid entertainment. (I'm not worthy! bow, bow, kiss the ring, bow...)  
  
Content Disclaimers: If you have been wondering why Mulder and Scully are so much more open, friendly, and silly in my version? Well, my only defense is that it couldn't be helped. I believe that romantic fiction is in part a function of how the author perceives the ideal relationship. In sharing this tiny bit of philosophy with my husband, I joked that , no matter how hard I tried to stay true to the characters, I found that I kept writing casual romantic moments sandwiched between one liners. My husband smiled and commented that that pretty much sums up our love life. "For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion."(-W.S.) I'll try harder next time to be more morose. : )  
  
Also, I tried to avoid reading fan fiction that was similar to my premise as not to prejudice myself while writing this story. However, this being a romance piece, and a formula one at that, I inadvertently hit on several of the same plot points and like details that I have since read in other fan-fic selections. The major difference being, the other selections are much, much better written. No plagiarism was intended. I guess that maybe fan-fic writers possess a collective unconsciousness of fantasy.  
  
Recommended Reading: An elaborate plots unfolds when a morally upright, intelligent, honest, and independent woman who has been strengthened by the personal tragedies that she has stoically endured is forced to work beside a dark and brooding hero who has been deceived and manipulated into a tortuous existence from which he has no escape other than to contemplate a forbidden union with the partner who has come to embody the sweet relief and companionship for which he has secretly longed throughout his life. Conspiracies of silence abound. Secrete chambers, gruesome sights, mysterious and unsavory figures attending to hidden agendas, temptations, and distorted truths are expertly woven into the tale. Sound familiar? This story even has a Diana Fowley character, although she goes by the name of Blanche Ingram. Don't worry Mr. Carter and 10-13 Productions, I sincerely doubt that the estate of Charlotte Bronte is likely sue you for infringement. After all, regardless of whether the story is set in England's past, or science-fiction's future, it is a universal tale that has captured our hearts and minds for centuries no matter how often it has been told. If antiquated English or time constraints prevent you from enjoying "Jane Eyre", but you are still interested, try renting the four hour video. I strongly recommend the version staring Timothy Dalton. I think that it's the way that Charlotte would have wanted it.  
  
Public Service Announcement Disclaimer: For those of you who were wondering why I felt it necessary to include a condom reference in a story that, for the most part, stuck to dirty innuendoes and metaphorical sex, I basically wrote it in because I'm tired of movies, television, and mainstream romance novels not dealing with it honestly. As a society, I hope that we are not sending out the message that pregnancy and disease control issues kill any pretense of romance or that the subject itself isn't something one should bring up before having sex because of perceived lack of trust in one's partner and/or because of fear about the image one might present. If an actual person or even a fictional character is planning to have sex, but feels too uncomfortable or embarrassed to bring up the subjects of protection and sexual history prior to the deed, call me old fashion, but that ain't love, baby. (Um, any body got a ladder I can borrow? This soap box is a lot taller than I thought. : ) )  
  
***THANKS FOR READING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! : )  
  
Again, All Comments to: Rachiraptor@yahoo.com 


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